Penance
by Luvvycat
Summary: Sequel to "Rum and Persuasion" and "A Means to an End." After helping rescue Jack from Davy Jones' Locker, Elizabeth pleads for absolution--regardless of the cost. Can Jack find it in his heart to forgive her? Rated "M" for eventual Sparrabeth smut.
1. Prologue: Purgatory

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

**

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**_**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to my two previous stories "Rum and Persuasion" and "A Means to an End." As I did with "A Means to an End", this current installment recreates existing scenes from PotC:AWE, either expanding them or telling them from a specific character's point of view, and also includes additional "new" scenes set in-between the canonical ones, which continue plot threads from the previous stories. Since this tale is set in the PotC movie universe (and not AU), expect the plot to adhere pretty closely to that of AWE._

_Please note that Disney owns all things PotC, and this story is not meant in infringe on any rights held by the all-powerful Mouse and its minions. I am merely borrowing the characters, playing with them, and letting them have a bit of fun ..._

_Please also take note of this story's "M" rating, mostly based on later chapters. I will give fair warning when those chapters are coming up, so anyone who finds adult-oriented sexual content objectionable can avoid them._

_Please, please feel free to leave reviews (either good or bad)._

_'Ta, and enjoy ..._

_-- Cat_**

* * *

**

**- Prologue -  
Purgatory**

Captain Jack Sparrow drew his pistol and shot the scurvy, thieving blackguard who had just pilfered his precious peanut ...

Who just so happened to be ... Jack Sparrow.

As his doppelganger fell over backward, to sprawl flat on his back on the deck of the _Black Pearl_, Jack blew the smoke from the barrel of his pistol, and stuck it back into his belt, then swaggered forward to claim the coveted legume.

"_My _peanut," he said, possessively, casting a hard look down at his other self, who just lay there pitifully moaning _"Help!"_, before popping it into his mouth.

He turned and started shouting orders to the crew—all of whom were also Jack Sparrow—who jumped up to respond to their Captain's commands with a resounding chorus of identically-voiced "Aye-Aye!"s.

In fact, the _Pearl_ appeared to be overrun with a veritable flock of Sparrows. There were spirited, shirtless, tattooed Jack Sparrows, hanging from the riggings and swarming up the rat-lines and standing astride the yards; subservient Jack Sparrows on their knees, industriously swabbing the deck; while yet more fleet-footed Jack Sparrows pranced across that deck in the swift execution of various and sundry duties.

Through the flurry of activity, something drew Jack's eye ... something that clearly incurred his displeasure.

"Mister Sparrow!"

The Jack-double paused in his current task. "Aye, Cap'n."

Jack pointed down toward the deck. "What say you about the condition of this tack line?"

Mister Sparrow regarded the rope to which his Captain was pointing, a hint of confusion in his kohled black eyes. "It be proper to my eyes, sir," he said, with humble deference.

"Proper?" Jack sauntered forward, casting a disapproving eye at Mister Sparrow's work, plucking at the loosely wound rope with his brown fingers, then drawing a length of it athwart his hands. "It is neither proper nor suitable, sir. It is not acceptable, nor adequate. It is, in obvious fact, an abomination!" He flung the rope at Mister Sparrow, with disgust.

Mister Sparrow's face reflected mild defiance as he sullenly turned to tend to the offending line. "Beggin' your pardon, sir. But, perhaps if you gave a man another chance ..."

Jack drew himself up, affronted. "Shall I?" he sneered, his dark eyes blazing cold fire as he drew his sword and plunged it, with a vengeance, through Mister Sparrow's midsection. Jack stared, unmoved, into eyes identical to his own, now wide and filled with shock and pain and knowledge of certain death at the rather unpleasant reality of his guts having been skewered by a tempered steel blade. Leaning in closely, his cheek pressed to his double's in a strangely intimate gesture, Jack murmured into his ear, sardonically, "That sort of thinkin' got us into this mess!"

Jack pulled his sword free, and Mister Sparrow dropped lifelessly to the deck. Watching the light fade from those disturbingly familiar eyes as yet another part of him died at his feet in a spreading pool of blood, Jack casually wiped the blade clean on the ship's rail.

"We have lost speed, and therefore time ... precious time ... which cannot be recovered, once lost ..." he continued, speaking to nothing but the phantoms of his own mind ...

* * *

Jack had had more than ample time to reflect on his failings as a pirate, during his time marooned on the endless white wasteland that was Davy Jones' Locker. There was little else to do, besides shout orders to imaginary crewmen, talk to himself, and slowly go mad …

… _-der._

He had come to the conclusion, too late, that gentler emotions such as sentiment and mercy had no place in piracy ... not if one was to survive with his skin—and his life—intact. Why was that a lesson that he had repeatedly failed to learn over the years, to his everlasting regret? After all, no amount of treasure, nor rum, nor hours pleasantly spent in the arms of any number of comely wenches was worth a man's life. Yet, he had, of his own accord, left himself vulnerable, disarmed, susceptible to the cruellest treachery—for what?

All for the sake of a kiss—and the promise of much more—from a fair and fiery lass who had come to occupy his thoughts and dreams, as well as the long-empty reaches of his pirate heart.

One soul-searing, blood-firing, mind-blowing, body-arousing kiss that had lured him willingly, like the irresistible strains of a siren's song, to his doom …

Now, in the lonely isolation of the Locker, he was haunted by visions of her... a woman whose name he couldn't bear to think of without unspeakable pain, but whose image blazed in his tortured brain with the searing brilliance of the desert sun overhead. The memory of that face engendered feelings of both deep longing and towering rage, the two emotions hopelessly entangled with one another, strange bedfellows, desperately intertwined like the sinewy limbs of passionate lovers locked in an ardent embrace.

He pushed the memories of _her _away, along with the emotions he counted amongst the many personal weaknesses he had resolved to eliminate, as he had just eliminated Leniency in the form of Mister Sparrow …

Mercy …

Compassion …

Forgiveness ...

_Love …_

He determined not to repeat his previous mistakes—forgetting, for the moment, that the point was moot, as he had already been killed—swallowed by the Kraken and transported to the desert of desolation that was Davy Jones' Locker, stranded in eternal doldrums, trapped in a permanent purgatory, alone with naught but his thoughts, his regrets ... and, most hellishly, with _himself_.

In fact, _dozens_ of himselves ... delusional archetypes representing different facets of his personality, conjured up by an active, clever, gregarious mind unhinged by an unending parade of days spent in forced solitude, beached on a parched, blinding-white plain stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see, baking under a harsh white-hot sun ...

His body deprived of rum …

His soul bereft of companionship …

His heart devoid of hope …

* * *


	2. The Haunted Shoals

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

**

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**

- Chapter 1 -  
**The Haunted Shoals**

The survivors of the _Hai Peng _pulled themselves out of the rushing surf, some collapsing with exhaustion on the shore of bleached-white sand. Debris from their destroyed vessel already littered the beach—barrels of rum, water, and other provisions, wooden crates of weapons and other supplies. But much had been lost to the rapacious, churning waters of World's End ...

Gibbs, never one to be short on words, was the first to recover his breath. He looked around, his faded blue eyes taking in their bleak surroundings. "This truly is a godforsaken place!" he declared, darkly.

Elizabeth came to stand next to Gibbs, her eyes scanning the beach and the swells of sandy dunes beyond it, looking for signs of life—any stray footprint or spillage of sand that would indicate another's presence on these shores. "I don't see Jack," she said, her voice an admixture of disappointment, concern, and frustration. "I don't see _anyone_."

Barbossa responded, certainty in his booming voice, "He's here! Davy Jones never once gave up that wot he took."

"And does it matter?" Will, at Barbossa's shoulder, retorted, crossly. "We're trapped here by _your _doing, no different than Jack."

Tia Dalma cast them a sly, sidelong glance, tenderly stroking a small white crab cradled in the palm of her left hand, while its fellows scurried to take shelter under the fullness of her wide skirts. "Witty Jack is closer den you t'ink," she said, smiling mysteriously, turning her eyes back to a particularly high sand dune.

No sooner had the words left her lips, than the top of a mast appeared over the rise of the dune. Everyone gawked in amazement as the _Black Pearl_—Jack perched confidently on the lower topgallant yard, high up the foremast—sailed over the top of the dune, riding it like the swell of a wave, her bowsprit jutting proudly into the air like a finger pointing to the sky. As she crested then started down the front side of the dune, they could see the shifting masses of white crabs scurrying under her long black hull, propelling her toward, then into, the welcoming arms of the sea.

Sao Feng's man, Tai Huang, stared in open-mouthed astonishment. "Impossible ..."

Ragetti, struck dumb with awe, could only point and say, rather stupidly, "Boat ..."

"Slap me thrice and hand me to my mama!" Gibbs exclaimed, as a rowboat approached, carrying a familiar, dreadlocked figure. "It's Jack!"

A tide of joy washed over Elizabeth at the sight of Jack, bringing a swift smile to her face, and she rushed forward a few steps, as if to follow Gibbs. But then she stopped, her smile quickly faltering as she thought of the inevitable confrontation to come. She turned and glanced guiltily over her shoulder at Will, whose eyes turned to fix on her, closely watching her reaction. There was a guardedness in his eyes that she had grown accustomed to seeing in recent months, a guardedness that had only come into being the day the _Black Pearl _was taken down, and Jack along with it ...

She dreaded Will, and the rest of the crew, discovering what she had done—how she had tricked Jack and doomed him to a horrible death by chaining him to the mast of his beloved _Black Pearl_. Even more so, she dreaded Jack's reaction. What would he do when he was reunited with her—his betrayer, his murderer? She had seen the darkness of fury in Jack's eyes before, and it had frightened her, more than she cared to admit. She quailed at the thought of that fury loosed from its reins, and turned full-force upon her ...

She didn't have long to wait, because Jack was stepping out of the boat, striding through the surf, across the damp sand, heading their way.

The rescue party ran toward him, Gibbs and Pintel leading the pack.

"It's the Cap'n!" Pintel cried out, enthusiastically.

"Sight for sore eyes!" Gibbs' great pleasure at seeing his friend and captain again was obvious. "Jack!" he pulled up in front of him, greeting him with outstretched arms and a huge smile splitting his craggy face.

Jack's dark eyes swept over the assembled group, then fixed on his First Mate.

"Mister Gibbs!" he called out sternly.

"Aye, Cap'n!" Gibbs replied, dropping his arms, his smile fading at Jack's rather unexpectedly harsh tone of voice.

"I thought so!" Jack said, frowning. "I expect you're able to account for your actions, then?"

Gibbs looked at him with confusion. "Sir?"

"There has been a perpetual and virulent lack of discipline on my vessel! Why? Why is that, sir?" Jack rebuked, his voice rising to a shout.

"Sir," Gibbs glanced around furtively to the others, then lowered his voice as he explained to Jack, carefully, "You're—you're in Davy Jones' Locker, Cap'n."

Jack's eyes went wide and his upper lip twitched nervously, and a strange expression flitted across his face before it froze, only his eyes moving, the whites showing all around the dark irises as he rolled them from side to side, trying to peer out of their corners without moving his head. Then, as though to prove he wasn't as addle-pated as Gibbs thought him, he quickly said, "I know that. I know where I am ... and _don't think I don't_!"

"Jack Sparrow!" Barbossa called out, and Jack spun toward him.

"Ah ... Hector!" He strode toward his former nemesis, his expression surprisingly jovial, almost welcoming. "It's been too long, hasn't it?"

"Aye ... Isla de Muerta, remember?" Then he leered at Jack with barely-concealed hostility. "Ye shot me."

Jack's eyes went unfocused for a moment as he appeared to search his memory. "No, I didn't!" he flatly denied, then, subject closed as far as he was concerned, he moved on to another familiar face, greeting her with a golden smile. "Tia Dalma! Out and about, eh? You add an agreeable sense of the macabre to any deliria."

Tia Dalma's pleased smile wavered a bit at Jack's words, a perplexed frown creasing her brow.

"He thinks we're a hallucination!" Will said, being the first to grasp the situation.

Jack turned to him, then approached. "William, tell me something. Have you come because you need my help to save a certain distressing damsel? Or, rather ... damsel in distress? Either one ..."

"No."

"Well, then, you wouldn't be here, would you," Jack said, with smug satisfaction at his clever turn of logic. "So you _can't_ be here. QED, you're not really here!"

Elizabeth finally stepped forward. "Jack!" At the sound of her voice, his eyes snapped to her. "This is real. We're here."

Turning toward her, Jack's mouth opened, and he lifted a finger as though intending to speak, then a look of disorientation passed over his face, and Elizabeth thought she detected a flash of fear and some darker emotion in his eyes for just a moment, reminding her somewhat of a child awakening from a nightmare to discover that the horror he had dreamt about was, in fact, real. And, she supposed, in a way, that was exactly what was happening …

Jack suddenly seemed unable to look directly at her, his eyes going vague, shifting away from her. He moved off, without really acknowledging her, and scurried back to Gibbs.

"The Locker, you say?" he practically whispered, unease written across his face.

"Aye."

Jack wiped a hand across his brow, his expression disturbed.

"We've come to rescue you," Elizabeth added, in explanation. What had happened to him? Had the Locker sapped his wits?

Jack finally turned and fixed her with a cool gaze, then said with mild sarcasm, "Have you now? Very kind of you ... but it would seem, as _I_ possess a ship and _you_ don't, _you're _the ones in need of rescuing ..." His eyes turned sullen, with a hint of petulant child in them, "... and I'm not sure I'm in the _mood_," he said, darkly.

Barbossa stepped forward again. "I see _my _ship ... right there!" He pointed out to sea, where there was but only one ship to be seen.

Jack turned and followed the direction of Barbossa's finger, shading his eyes and squinting out to where the _Pearl _bobbed on the water. "Can't spot it. Must be a tiny little thing hiding somewhere behind the _Pearl_."

Before Jack's and Barbossa's exchange could blossom into a full-fledged argument, Will came forth, shadowed closely by Elizabeth and Tia Dalma. "Jack! Cutler Beckett has the heart of Davy Jones. He controls the _Flying Dutchman_."

"He's taking over the seas," Elizabeth added, urgency in her voice as she clutched at Jack's coat-sleeve.

"De song has already been sung," Tia Dalma said, at his opposite shoulder. "De Bred'ren Court is called."

"Leave you people alone for just a minute, and look what happens! Everything's gone to pot!" Jack said, his voice rising as he turned his back on them and scuttled away.

"Aye, Jack!" Gibbs said, calling out after him, "The world needs you back somethin' fierce!"

"And you need a crew ..." Will added, persuasively.

Jack stopped, then slowly turned around. With disdain, he said, "Why should I sail with any of you? Four of you have tried to kill me in the past ... one of you succeeded." He fixed Elizabeth with an accusatory look, and she cringed at the anger she saw thinly concealed behind his flippant attitude.

Will raised his eyebrows in surprise as the significance of Jack's words registered, and he and the others turned to look pointedly at Elizabeth. At the expression on their faces, in their eyes, she shrunk back a bit into herself, and shot a guilty look toward Jack, as though to say _Why did you have to tell them?_

At their reaction, and the look on Elizabeth's face, Jack drew the correct conclusion and, walking back to them with that familiar swaggering gait of his, added with snide satisfaction, "Oh, she's not told you? You'll have loads to talk about while you're here." He seemed to take a malicious glee in her discomfort.

He turned a glower upon Tia Dalma. "As for you ..." he said, a hint of menace in his tone.

She gazed steadily back at him, unflinchingly, a slow, sensuous smile spreading across her face as she simpered and fingered his chin-braids. "Now, don't tell me you didn't ... _enjoy _it, at de time?"

Jack returned her smile, with a nostalgic little leer, leaving Elizabeth to wonder, with an unreasonable, and quite unexpected, flash of jealousy, just what _had _passed between those two. "Fair enough. All right. You're in!"

As he moved on to Ragetti, Jack's brows descended into a frown. "Don't need you ... you scare me!" he said, dismissively. Ragetti's face fell.

Jack proceeded down the row, eyeing each man speculatively. "Gibbs, you can come. Marty." He grimaced as he came to Pintel, then passed him over without a word. "Cotton. Cotton's parrot, a little iffy … but at least I'll have someone to talk to."

When he got to Tai Huang, he stopped short, eyes widening, peering at the Oriental face in puzzlement. "Who're you?"

"Tai Huang." He indicated the other Asian men standing behind him with a small tilt of his head. "These are my men."

Jack stood up straighter. "Where do your allegiances lie?"

"With the highest bidder," Tai Huang responded, pragmatically.

"I have a ship," Jack offered, smiling hopefully.

Tai Huang smiled back. "That makes _you _the highest bidder."

"Good man!" Jack declared, then turned and started shouting out orders. "Weigh anchor, all hands! Prepare to make sail!" He reached for his compass, flipped it open, then stared as its hands continued to spin, with no indication of stopping on a specific destination. He frowned.

"Jack," Barbossa said, in an unctuous voice, with an oily grin to match. Jack slanted him a glance, eyes narrowing. "Which way you going, Jack?" He patted the rolled-up charts he held in his hands, his grin widening smugly as Jack's simian namesake, perched on his shoulder, tilted his head and screeched, almost mockingly ...

* * *


	3. Exodus

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

**

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**

- Chapter 2 -  
**Exodus**

The crew collected whatever supplies had washed up on the Locker's shores, transferring them to the _Pearl _and preparing her for sailing. Jack and Barbossa moved amongst them, both shouting out orders, squabbling like children over who was actually Captain and, thus, authorised to give the orders. Fiercely competitive combatants that they were, and with the long history of ill will between them, it didn't appear as though the issue would be resolved anytime soon. In the classic example of the irresistible force meeting the immovable object, neither man seemed willing to give even the smallest amount of ground to the other.

For the most part, Elizabeth tried to stay out of Jack's way, which was just as well, as Jack seemed to be making a point of avoiding her also. Every so often she would look up and see him staring at her, a cold and decidedly unfriendly look in the dark mirrors of his eyes which disturbed her deeply. Not that she didn't deserve his rancour. She expected she would feel the same, if he had betrayed and sent _her _to her death ...

She remembered the brief exchange she and Will had had on the _Hai Peng_, just before Barbossa had driven the ship over the waterfall, into World's End ...

_"How long do we continue not talking?" Will had asked her._

_"Once we rescue Jack, everything will be fine ..." was her reply._

Well, they _had _rescued Jack. But everything _wasn't _fine, was it? No, it was about as far from fine as it could possibly get ...

She eventually retreated to the relative seclusion of the stairwell leading down to the hold and crew's quarters, trying to collect her disordered thoughts. It had not escaped her notice that Will also seemed to be eschewing her company of late ... in fact, it appeared he could barely stand to look at her at all, let alone touch her, ever since the day the _Pearl_ was reclaimed by the sea …

But he found her now ...

"You left Jack to the Kraken?" Will said, emerging from the shadows of the hold, his deep voice softly accusing.

Elizabeth could not look him in the face, didn't want to see the condemnation hinted at by the tone of his voice. "He's rescued now. It's done with," she said, quietly, the promise of tears roughening her voice. _Not by a long shot, missy! _Jack's voice, insinuating, rang in her head, taking her back to another time and place, and much more pleasant circumstances between her and Jack, when he had spoken those very words to her. The memory brought a slight blush to her cheeks.

Will turned away from her, and she rose to her feet to stand at the bottom of the stairs. She took a hesitant step toward him, wanting to explain, needing to unburden her conscience, at last, after the past months of secretive silence. "Will, I had no choice ..."

"You _chose _not to tell me." She couldn't bear the hurt in his voice—not hurt that she had actually lured Jack to his death, but that she had kept it a secret from him ...

"I _couldn't_!" she maintained, trying to find the right words so he would understand, but all she could come up with was, "It wasn't your burden to bear."

He turned back to her, his face filled with wounded anger, his voice so soft she could barely make out his words. "But I _did _bear it, didn't I? I just didn't know what it was." Pain and confusion pooled in his eyes, flooded his face. "I thought ..." He let the words trail off, but his dark eyes spoke volumes.

Reading them now, she had an epiphany, the scales finally falling from her own eyes as she at last understood the reason for his distance, his withdrawing from her since the day they lost Jack and the _Black Pearl_. Drowning in her own guilt, Elizabeth had thought Will's suddenly coolness toward her had been because he suspected what she had done to Jack, and was repelled. Now, peering at his face, she finally knew what it was ... what he had been thinking since that last day on the _Pearl _...

"You thought I loved him," she said. Conflicting emotions swamped her ... regret that Will had suffered these past months under the mistaken belief that she no longer loved him, uncertainty at her own confused feelings where Jack was concerned. Did she love Jack? She couldn't answer that question, her heart so torn asunder as to be unreadable to her ...

Not that it made any difference what she felt. Jack hated her now, with good cause—how could he _not_, after what she had done to him? And Will was well on his way down that prickly path himself ...

She turned away, intending to retreat up the stairs, but Will grabbed her, rougher than he had ever been with her, forcing her back against a support beam. "If you make your choices alone, how can I trust you?" he said in a near-whisper, both pain and passion lacing his voice.

Her heart twisted inside her chest, thinking of the other secrets she had kept from Will, the other ways in which she had betrayed him ... with Jack. To make matters worse, mixed in with the guilt and pain were memories of exquisite pleasure—desires awakened, fed most deliciously, and ultimately satiated at the touch of Jack's hands and mouth—a touch that, even now, more than a year later, she still craved, like a drunkard craved drink …

"You can't," she whispered back, desolately, and, harsh though it was, it was nothing but the plain, unvarnished truth. She saw the stunned look on his face and felt, not for the first time, that Will was slipping away from her, ten years of love and affection now tainted, poisoned, practically annihilated, not through any fault of Will's, but because of the things _she _had done ...

Breaking free of Will's grasp, she turned and fled up the stairs, away from the sight of his wounded and accusatory eyes ...

* * *

Jack was at the _Pearl_'s wheel when he saw Elizabeth emerge from belowdecks, clearly upset. Shortly after, Will also came back up on deck, and from the looks they were giving one another, from opposite sides of the ship, he knew that ... something ... had passed between them. Nothing pleasant, apparently.

And some wicked little imp inside of Jack was capering in delight, to see the two lovebirds so desperately unhappy ...

It served them right.

It served _her _right!

Ever since that moment in the Locker_—_when he had heard that voice spilling again into his ear like poisoned honey, calling his name, and turned to gaze upon the terrible, beautiful face that had seduced him to his death with a black-widow kiss_—_he felt as though some sort of madness had gripped him, pulling him in two different directions, tearing his heart and soul apart in a welter of exquisite agony.

One second, he wanted to strangle her ... wrap his strong, calloused fingers around that delicate silken throat and squeeze the breath out of her, watch gleefully as fingertip-shaped bruises sprang up around that lovely neck like a string of dark pearls and the life seeped slowly out of those deep amber eyes like precious rum leaking from a cracked mug ...

The next, he wanted to take her in his arms, absorb her through his very skin, kiss her rapturously with mouth and tongue and teeth until she begged for mercy, throw her down and make love to her again and again, lose himself in her body through endless sun-drenched days and delicious velvet-wrapped nights, until they both expired, carried to the heights of Heaven and the very depths of Hell itself in the sweet, agonising throes of ecstasy ...

At present, he was content to maintain his distance, and keep a cautious eye on her. Not so much that he didn't trust _her_, though there was an underlying element of that ... he just didn't trust _himself _around her, in his present state of mind. He was afraid of what he might do, were he to finally be alone with her.

Without restraint …

_Without witnesses …_

* * *

It wasn't until early evening, when most of the crew were belowdecks at their dinner, when Elizabeth plucked up her courage, and sought Jack out. Despite her tremendous reluctance to face him and the consequences of what she had done, she felt the need to settle things with him; they couldn't continue on this difficult voyage without clearing the air between them. They had too much to accomplish in too short a time, and they couldn't do it if everyone spent untoward time and effort avoiding, or hating, one another ...

As luck would have it, she found him, alone, in the Captain's cabin. Apparently, he and Barbossa had come to some sort of grudging arrangement on who would have use of the main cabin at which hours ...

As she slipped silently into the room, she idly noticed that Jack appeared not to have touched his dinner—the plate sat there, neglected, the food cooling and drying in the candle-warmed air of the cabin—but, telling from the nearly empty bottle on the table in front of him, he had already consumed a fair quantity of rum. She didn't know if that would help or hinder her current purpose.

When he at last became aware of her presence, he heaved a deep sigh and, without looking up, said, "What is it you want, Miss Swann?" His voice was harsh, his tone reeking of displeasure. When he raised his eyes to her, they were as dark and hard as twin pieces of flint, no trace of warmth in them, only a stony wariness and a thinly-veiled animosity.

Now that the moment of confrontation was here, she had difficulty finding her voice, any words she might have said drying up in her throat under the withering intensity of his stare. Jack just sat there, transfixing her with that obsidian gaze, as she struggled to find the right words.

"Well?" he said at length, with impatience.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, thrumming in her ears, nearly loud enough for him to hear across the room, she imagined. She tried to swallow past the sudden tightness in her throat, but all she seemed to be able to manage was a quavering whisper. "I—I came to try to make amends, Jack. To apologise for ... for what I did." His eyes remained coldly distant. "To—to seek your forgiveness ..."

"For what, luv? For _murdering _me?" His voice was cutting, flaying her with barely-contained anger.

"Well ... yes," she admitted. Her words trailed off at the pitiless expression on his face. Clearly, he wasn't going to make this easy for her. And why should he, after all? She _was _guilty as charged ...

If anything, his eyes got even harder, flint transforming now into black diamonds, glittering dangerously in the flickering candlelight. "Of course, why should I hold such a trifling little thing against you? What's the life of a scurrilous, lowlife pirate worth, after all? Certainly not as much as that of a governor's daughter, or a blacksmith's apprentice." His tone dripped with sarcasm that stung her like vinegar poured into an open wound.

Elizabeth flushed, disconcerted by his temper, and the lingering trace of madness in his eyes that had been there since his rescue from the Locker. But what had she expected? Mercy? Understanding? "I had hoped that we could put that behind us, get past it ..."

His intense gaze remained fixed on her as he raised the rum bottle to his lips, draining it in one long swig. He slammed the empty bottle back onto the table with such force that it was a miracle it didn't shatter, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Have you any reason to expect my forgiveness? And, tell me, Miss Swann, how in _bloody _hell do you think you _can _atone for what you did?" he sneered, bitterness making his baritone voice with its soft cockney accent, usually seductively pleasant to listen to, grate against her ears. She flinched at the vehemence in his tone, the banked rage simmering in the black cauldron of his eyes.

"I ... I don't know." She felt the beginning of tears prickle her eyes, but knew that tears would not move him, so she refused to let them flow. Nevertheless, she averted her gaze, so he would not see their telltale, embryonic glimmer silvering her eyes. "You ... you seemed to understand why I did it, at the time ..." She remembered the look on his face when she had snapped the shackle around his wrist. The wide grin, the sable eyes looking down at her with unabated desire, frank admiration ... perhaps even, unless she had imagined it, a trace of _love _...

_"I'm not sorry ..." she said in a resolute voice, with only the smallest hint of a tremor, as much to convince herself as him ..._

_"Pirate!" he whispered, his voice low, intimate, sending an involuntary thrill down her spine, conveying a wealth of feeling in that single word ..._

"Well, luv, that's the funny thing about death—it has a way of drastically altering a man's perspective. Try spendin' some time yourself in Hell, and I'm sure you'd come out of it changed, too ..." he said caustically.

"But … but I _have_ been in Hell, Jack, these past months. It's been absolute torture for me, knowing what I did, torn with guilt about it all … knowing that you were gone, and it was all my fault …"

His eyes flared, and she found herself practically scorched by the fury in them, though his voice remained cold as ice. "Hell, you say? Darlin', you don't even _begin_ to know what torture is …so don't try to tell _me_ how much you've suffered!" Belatedly, she remembered the innumerable scars and the brand he carried, evidence of past torments, the unbearable agonies he had been made to go through during his lifetime. No, _torture _was not a word to be bandied about lightly, with Jack Sparrow ...

"I—I lied to you that day, when I said I wasn't sorry. I _am _sorry, Jack! I'm so _terribly_ sorry, but, in my defence, it's the only choice I could have made, at the time ... in those circumstances, to save all our lives," she went on.

"All lives, that is, except me own!" Beneath the anger, she thought she detected an undercurrent of hurt in his tone, like the desolate cry of an abandoned child ...

Her thin veneer of composure fragmented into a million razor-sharp shards. To her chagrin, an errant tear slipped down her cheek, burning a trail like acid down her face, and she dropped her eyes from his. "Tell me what I need to do to make it up to you. Anything within my power to give you, is yours ..."

This seemed to mollify him somewhat, for he fell silent. At his continued silence, she looked up, to find his dark eyes upon her, raking her body with a speculative, and disturbingly lustful, gaze.

_Yes, even that ... _She nodded in resignation, tacitly agreeing to the unspoken demand conveyed by his eyes. "If ... if _that _would settle our debt ... make things square between us ... I will ... You can ..." She blushed suddenly, not able to complete the thought.

But he picked up on her meaning all the same. His soft voice oozed with malice, and any likening to a child she may have fancied quickly evaporated. "So ... for the sake of receiving absolution, you would trade your virginity to me? You _are _still a virgin, aren't you, darlin'?" he added, nastily. "Perhaps that status has changed since you sent me on me merry way to the Locker." He laughed, a short, harsh bark that held no trace of humour nor amusement in it. "Sorry, luv—but I make it a rule not to sleep with people who try to murder me. Or, in your case, actually succeeded ... for which I suppose I should congratulate you for your ingenuity. Better men—and women—than you have tried to take me life over the years, without success."

Then his eyes went over her again, slowly, touching upon the soft fullness of her lips, the swell of her bosom, and he crooked a lecher's smile that had nothing of softness about it. "Then again ... we might consider that more of a guideline than a ... _hard _and _fast _rule." He looked at her steadily, his eyes burning with a dark and dangerous sexuality, and cocked an eyebrow, suggestively.

She turned her back to him, trying to collect the frayed strands of her dignity, which was impossible for her to do with the penetrative pressure of his eyes on her. She took a deep breath in an effort to calm her jangling nerves, then, releasing it in a deep, shuddering sigh, shoulders slumping slightly in defeat, she made her decision ...

Reaching down, she unfastened the buckle of her belt, letting it fall uncaringly to the floor, then started untying the sash tightly cinching her narrow waist, her fingers shaking so that she could hardly manage the knot. She at last slipped it off and also let it fall. She had started undoing the fastenings at the front of her black silk tunic, when she heard a sound behind her ...

Jack was suddenly there, spinning her around, wrapping his fist in her hair, yanking her head back as he forcefully took possession of her mouth, his kiss brutal, bruising. As she gasped at his ferocity, he plunged his rum-flavoured tongue into her mouth peremptorily. Reaching down to grasp her buttocks with both hands, he pulled her roughly against him, pressing his groin to hers. She felt him through the layers of clothing, hard, against her lower belly.

He broke from the kiss to whisper fiercely against her lips, "Feel what you do to me, Lizzie—what you _still _can do, after all this time, in spite of everything?" He pushed her against the wall of the cabin, her back slamming against the dark panelling, his ungentle hands roaming freely over her, groping her breasts through the thin silk of her tunic, burying his face in the curve of her throat, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of her shoulder, dragging his tongue up the length of her neck. He kissed her again, ferociously, and one hand travelled down to rub her through the crotch of her oriental trousers.

She trembled, equal parts fear and—perversely—desire. His violence frightened her, yet at the same time, she couldn't keep her traitorous body from responding to the feel of Jack's hands, his lips, his body against hers, welcoming with rising heat even these rough touches.

The past few months had taught her much about violence as, in preparation for their quest, she learned from Barbossa how to defend herself—and to kill—with sword and pistol, rifle and knife, handling these weapons with new confidence and deadly skill that surprised even the tough old Barbossa, and appalled Will. Having lost her moral innocence that fateful day on the _Black Pearl_, and with the stain of Jack's murder already on her soul, she had found it disconcertingly easy to kill, revelling in the catharsis it brought her as she slashed or shot her way through anyone who stood between her and finding Jack …

…the same, slightly mad Jack who now pressed closely against her, pinning her to the wall with his body as he breathed in her ear, "I could take you, Lizzie ... take you _hard _and _fast _like a man takes a half-crown whore, use you mercilessly, and _still _make you scream in ecstasy in the end. _This _is something I know how to do ..." Then a shudder ran through him and, with a groan of torment, he grabbed her by the shoulders and flung her away from him. She landed in a sprawl across his bed. "But, God help me, though I still want you with every fibre of my being, I _don't _know how to forgive you. How _does _a man forgive his murderer for killing him?" He shook his head, and a little bit of the fury leached out of his eyes. "You expect far too much of me, luv." He crooked a humourless grin. "You always have."

He picked up her belt and sash from the floor, and tossed them onto the bed next to her. "Now, go! Before I change me mind, and take you anyway ..."

Grabbing up her effects, she got up from the bed, and, propelled by Jack's dark look, fled the cabin, her hair mussed, face flushed, her tunic still half-unbuttoned ...

She didn't see Will lurking in the shadows, watching her go ...

* * *

Not long after, Gibbs rapped on the door and poked his nose into the cabin. "Cap'n?" he asked tentatively, then fell silent as he saw Jack sitting at the chart table, head buried in his hands, every line and aspect of his body bespeaking anguish, the candle glow glinting like shards of fire off the ornaments in his hair and the many rings adorning his long fingers. As Gibbs stepped into the room, his boots crunched on broken glass, and he looked down to see the remains of a shattered rum bottle on the floor. No wetness in evidence, though, so the bottle had been empty when it was thrown ...

"Jack?" he dropped the formality, worry for his friend flooding his lagoon-blue eyes, and came quickly into the cabin and shut the door. "Are ye all right?"

There was a soul-deep sigh, and then Jack raised his head, not quite able to disguise the turmoil in his black-rimmed eyes fast enough as he quickly schooled his face into a mask of detached composure. "What is it, Gibbs? Problems with the crew? Is that whoreson Barbossa gettin' too out of hand? Or is Cotton's parrot and that infernal monkey goin' at it again?"

"No," Gibbs replied softly, "Just wanted to apprise ye on our progress. We're holdin' steady on our course, and the waters be calm, though the wind's dyin' down a bit."

"Good," Jack said, somewhat distractedly, then added, "Thank you, Mister Gibbs."

Rather than retreat at Jack's implied dismissal, Gibbs approached, hesitantly. Alone, away from the prying eyes and ears of the crew, Gibbs spoke to Jack in the gentle tones of a friend rather than First Mate to Captain. "What's the matter, Jack? What be troublin' ye?" His voice dropped even lower. "Is it the Locker, and what ye went through …?"

Jack was silent for a moment, then, responding to the concern in Gibbs' voice, he sighed again and replied, his voice a soft, deep, and slightly troubled rumble, "No. Not quite. Or, at least, not entirely ..."

Gibbs studied Jack for a moment, and then realisation dawned. "Oh! Then it be about ... _her_."

Jack glanced up sharply, and the dangerous look that flashed through his eyes would have daunted a lesser man. But Gibbs knew Jack well, and was undeterred.

"What happened, Jack?"

Jack closed his eyes, as though in pain, and was silent so long that at first Gibbs thought he wouldn't get an answer. But then, he replied in a hoarse voice threaded with misery, "She came to me tonight, Josh, beggin' for my forgiveness. And I entirely lost control of meself." A spasm of self-loathing passed across his mobile face. "What I almost did to her ... what I _wanted _to do to her ..." His hands tightened into fists, his suntanned knuckles going white with tension.

"But ye didn't, did ye?" Gibbs said, soothingly.

The corner of Jack's moustache twitched in a swift, ironic grin. "No, thank the Lord. But, by God, Josh, I wanted to do her violence ... and, even worse, I would have taken the greatest pleasure in it!" he hissed through clenched teeth, his burning eyes hinting at the fury he had felt.

Gibbs ventured to lay a sympathetic hand on Jack's shoulder. "Aye. And then ye wouldn't've been able to live with yerself after." His tranquil blue eyes regarded Jack as the clenched hands relaxed, opening to lay flat against the table before him.

"No. I wouldn't've been able to live with meself," Jack near-whispered, looking down, contemplating those strong brown fingers that had once moved over Elizabeth's soft flesh, delivering pleasure, but which tonight had itched to bruise and abuse that same flesh, to bring pain and abasement rather than ecstasy.

Gibbs sighed. "Ye know ... it be said that those wot spend even a day in the Locker come out of it with their wits addled. To be condemned for eternity to its torments is like to drive a man slowly and completely mad."

Jack slanted him a sidelong glance, eyes narrowed. "What are you sayin', Gibbs?"

"Only that there may still be a bit of that madness rattlin' about in ye ..."

"And that's why I behaved as I did tonight?"

"Aye. All I know is, in the near ten year I've known ye, I've never seen you even come close to beatin' up a woman. Even with what some men might consider plenty of provocation."

Jack's mouth twisted into a frown. "Mayhaps ye do not know me as well as you think, Gibbs. This is not the first time I've harboured a desire to inflict bodily harm on our dear Miss Swann." He thought of that day on the rum-runner's island, when he had aimed a pistol at her head, so very tempted to pull the trigger ...

"Aye. But _havin'_ the desire, and _actin'_ upon it, are two vastly different things, Jack." His craggy face creased into a knowing smile. "Why, you could no more harm that gal than cut off your right arm ..."

"All the same, Gibbs ... I wouldn't stake me life on that assumption, if I were you."

Gibbs' smile only broadened. "That's a bet I'm willin' to put good money on, Jack. And you know me … I don't bet on anything but a _sure _thing." He studied Jack's face. "Will ye be forgivin' 'er then?"

Again, that ironic twitch of his mouth. "You know me, Gibbs. I'm not a very forgivin' man, and I don't take betrayal lightly." His mouth spread into a rueful grin. "Why, just look at me and Hector ... I kept that pistol and shot for ten years, bidin' me time, savin' it for him, waitin' for the opportune moment to pay him back for his perfidy. And I felt no regret whatsoever when I finally got the chance to settle the score."

"Aye," Gibbs agreed. "And well he deserved it, too, I reckon. But there's a big difference between him and Elizabeth, Jack." He paused, then went on, softly. "Ye weren't in _love _with Barbossa ..."

Again that flash of a dark look from Jack. "Gibbs ..." he said warningly.

"Don't bother denyin' it, Jack. I know ye too well, and I got eyes ... I seen how you look at 'er, how you react to 'er whenever she's within yer sights." He shook his head. "Ye got it fer her ... bad! Worse than you've had it for any other woman."

Another spasm of pain crossed Jack's features, but for all that, his tone was a shade lighter when he responded, and the demons dwelling in the abysmal depths of his black eyes had retreated somewhat. "Yes ... now, if I could only get rid of _it_, we'd all be much better off ..."

* * *


	4. Heartache

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

**

* * *

**

- Chapter 3 -  
**Heartache**

Later, most of the _Pearl_'s crew were up on deck, taking the night air as the ship glided slowly through the calm waters. Gibbs sat cleaning a rifle. Tia Dalma was on the foredeck, at the prow, along with Pintel and Ragetti. Barbossa and Tai Huang conferred together in low tones, while Jack and Elizabeth sat on opposite sides of the wheel deck's stairs, doing their best to ignore one another. Will stood off to one side, casting an occasional glance at Elizabeth or Jack, his eyes narrowed, brow knit in a frown ...

When they noticed the myriad points of light off the port side of the _Pearl_, which turned into little boats approaching out of the darkness, each lit with a small lantern, Gibbs grabbed his rifle and loaded it, then went to the rail, prepared to defend the _Pearl_, should it become necessary.

Will stepped forward, seizing the barrel of Gibbs' rifle as he moved to raise it. "They're not a threat to us," he said, quietly. Tia Dalma came down from the foredeck to join them at the rail, Pintel and Ragetti right behind her. With an expression of deep sorrow etched on her dusky face, the shine of what looked like the beginning of tears in her eyes, she looked out at the drifting boats. Will directed his question to her, "Am I right?"

She met his eyes and nodded her head almost imperceptibly. "We are not'ing but ghosts to dem."

Barbossa joined them as well, his eyes fixed on the sombre flotilla moving across the placid black waters. "It's best just let them be," he said in a surprisingly gentle tone.

As the boats drew closer, they could discern the passengers who rode in each of them. In one was a pair of twin girls, no more than ten years of age, dressed in identical frocks and hats, their sweet solemn faces pale in the lamplight, glassy eyes staring straight ahead.

There were more boats, more people: Ladies and gentlemen of obvious means in their finery and powdered wigs; sailors and fishermen in rough homespun garb; men, women, and children from all walks of life, on a common journey to the same destination, unseeing eyes fixed ahead, to that distant shore where their souls could find everlasting peace ...

Her curiosity piqued by the gathering at the rail and the murmur of hushed conversation, Elizabeth rose from the stairs and came to stand next to Barbossa, gazing down to watch the passing boats. Jack followed not too far behind her, drawn as well.

As Elizabeth's eyes swept over the array of boats, one particular passenger, clad in a fine frock coat and hat, sporting a long grey wig, caught her attention, causing her face to brighten in recognition and joy. "It's my father!" Her mind leapt to the first, and most optimistic, conclusion. "We've made it back!" She jumped up and down excitedly, the little girl inside her coming to the surface as she called out, "Father! Father, here ... look here!"

Jack also looked down upon the long procession of boats, his face grim, understanding their significance, as did, it appeared, everyone else save Elizabeth. Then his eyes shifted to her as she tried so earnestly to get her father's attention.

"Elizabeth," he said, his voice low and gentle, and despite his earlier anger at her, his deliberate cruelty toward her, something in his chest tightened as she turned and looked at him with shining eyes, her careworn features softened into lines of childlike happiness, her beautiful smile brilliant in the twilight. He shook his head slightly, his face sombre. "We're not back."

She stared at him a moment, the smile still fixed on her face. Then it faltered as he saw the knowledge creep into her widening eyes, her face freezing into a rictus of horror-struck disbelief, her heart refusing to accept the conclusion to which her mind was leading her ...

She turned away from Jack, cast her eyes back out to the boat carrying her father. Will reached out a hand to her, also realising her plight, but she moved away, crying out, her voice rising in panic, "Father!"

Her cry seemed to reach him, for Weatherby Swann blinked as though waking from a dream, awareness filtering back into his fixed expression, and he turned slowly toward the _Pearl_, following the sound of her familiar voice. His eyes sought and found her, his brow lowering into a bemused frown as he recognised the beloved face of his only child. "Elizabeth?" he asked, in a bewildered voice. "Are you dead?"

She shook her head, a look of horrified comprehension dawning on her face. "No ..." She clutched at the rail, moving along it, following it as she attempted to stay even with the passing boat. "No!"

His eyes were filled with sadness as he replied, with the ghost of a melancholy smile, "I think _I_ am."

Desperation filled Elizabeth's face as she cried out in denial, "No! You _can't _be!"

Swann continued, his voice low as what was left of his consciousness drew forth some of his final recollections. "There was this chest, you see." His face reflected his struggle to retrieve the fading memories, "It's hard. At the time, it seemed so important ..."

"Come aboard!" Elizabeth called out to him.

But her father ignored her plea as he continued, "And the heart ... I learned that if you stab the heart, yours must take its place."

Will's expression darkened as he listened to Governor Swann's words, taking in the information. Tia Dalma slowly came forward, to stand beside Will, looking intently at his face.

Jack was also listening closely as Swann continued, "And you will sail the seas for eternity. The _Dutchman _must have a captain." He looked away. "Silly thing to die for ..."

Elizabeth spun to shout to whoever would listen, "Someone! Cast a line!"

Marty looked round, spied a coil of rope lying on the deck, reached for it as Elizabeth called back out to her father, "Come back with us!" When Elizabeth turned, Marty was standing there, still holding the rope, as if uncertain what to do next. Elizabeth rushed to him and snatched the rope from his hands, desperate to rescue her father before it was too late ...

Tia Dalma's gaze was still fixed on Will, and now she leaned forward, and said in a portentous tone, "A touch of destiny ..." He turned to stare at her.

Elizabeth hurried back to the rail, and cast the end of the rope out into the water. It landed across the prow of the boat carrying Governor Swann. "Take the line!" she screamed, but her words and the presence of the rope did not seem to register with her father, for he took no notice of it as he turned back to gaze at his daughter, a glimmer of fatherly pride shining in his fading eyes.

"I'm so proud of you, Elizabeth," he smiled gently, with a father's fond affection.

By this time, Elizabeth was hysterical as she saw the opportunity to save her father slipping away with the passage of his boat. "Come on!! The line!! Take the line!!" she cried shrilly. She ran toward the aft of the ship, striving to keep abreast of her father's boat. As she saw the intended rescue line slip away into the water, she clambered up the stairs to the wheel deck, then threw herself at the ropes fastening the riggings ...

Tia Dalma cried out, urgently, her eyes going wide with panic, "She must not leave de ship!"

They all scrambled after Elizabeth, who was now scaling the rail, looking as though she would cast herself, after her father, into the sea ... all of them, that is, except Jack, who remained motionless on the main deck, staring after them with sober and strangely calm eyes, willing himself to stay detached, reasserting his resolve to eliminate such weakening emotions from his being. Besides, with all those people flocking around her, Elizabeth certainly didn't need _him _...

And now, after hearing Governor Swann's words, he had _other_ things to think about …

Hanging on to the ropes, Elizabeth screamed out to her father, "Please, come with us! Please! No! _I won't leave you!"_

But by now, it was too late ... the boat had passed by. Weatherby Swann cast one last look back over his shoulder at his daughter as he said, "I'll give your love to your mother, shall I?"

Elizabeth was crying now, inconsolably, perched precariously on the rail, clinging to the ropes. "Please, I won't let you die!"

Then Will was reaching up for her, drawing her off the rail, pulling her into his arms. "Elizabeth!" She struggled against him for a few seconds, then sagged in his embrace, sobbing into his chest as his arms tightened around her, his face a mask of despair.

He looked up, his eyes meeting Tia Dalma's, pleadingly. "Is there a way?"

She shook her head slowly, her dark eyes huge with sorrow. "Him at peace."

* * *

Will held Elizabeth until she cried herself out and she now sat on the wheel deck stairs, drained of all emotion, staring glassy-eyed down at the deck, like one of the boat-people, all her energy having been spent along with her tears.

By mutual accord, Jack and Barbossa had decided that Elizabeth should take the Captain's cabin for the night. Before Will took her off to its privacy and solitude, Jack pulled him aside and handed him a full bottle of rum. At Will's confused look, he said, quietly, "In case you, or she, needs it. It is my experience, in circumstances like this, that rum can help a great deal—to ease the heart's pain, calm a fevered mind, and bring the welcome oblivion of sleep." Will nodded in understanding, accepting the bottle gratefully, in the spirit that it was given, then coaxed a near-catatonic Elizabeth off the steps and into the cabin.

As the door closed behind the two, Barbossa joined Jack at the rail, their differences temporarily forgotten, at least for the moment.

"Poor lass," Barbossa said, uncharacteristically sympathetic. "To find out about 'er father, in such a way, and her already so beset with burdens." He gave Jack a sidelong glance. "Of course, ye may be gainin' a bit of satisfaction from 'er sufferin'."

Jack frowned. "Exactly what do you mean by that, Hector?"

"Meanin' that, all things considered, ye might be feelin' a bit vindicated that she's bein' made to pay such a terrible penance, after what she did to ya." By now, everyone knew all the gory details about her chaining Jack to the mast, the tale already being embroidered and embellished as the crew gossiped amongst themselves.

"That's rot and nonsense!" Jack protested. "My grievance is with her, and her alone. Why would I want her father to pay with his life, for somethin' he had no hand in? If there's a price to be paid, t'will be hers and hers alone, and that's for me and her to muddle out." His voice lowered, his eyes straying in the direction of the cabin as he thought of Elizabeth, prancing at the rail in girlish delight as she tried to get her father's attention, before finding out the dreadful truth. "Besides, I wouldn't wish such tragedy upon her—losin' her father ... after all, all things considered, she's still not much more than a child."

"Aye," Barbossa said, with irony, stroking his grizzled, straggly beard. "A child who can wrap a man who should be old enough to know better around 'er little finger, and then send 'im blithely to his death with nary a blink of an eye." He sighed. "Yer just too soft, Jack—always have been. That's what got ye mutinied upon … well, _one_ of the reasons, at least." He smiled as Jack shot him a dark look.

Barbossa turned and looked toward the closed cabin door, his smile fading. "But, be ye warned, Jack. I've seen 'er in action ... she wields a sword and knife without mercy. She takes an almost savage pleasure in the kill." He grinned wolfishly. "Never mind that those she dispatched deserved to be sped along to meet their maker, but that gal ..." His expression turned serious. "You should've seen her in Singapore, her with 'er knife to Tai Huang's neck, and you could see in 'er eyes that she was eager for an excuse to use it." He shook his head. "She has a tetch of madness in 'er, she does, and this latest misfortune won't be helpin' her state of mind any." Barbossa eyed Jack with a glint of black humour in his grey eyes. "She be a lot like you, Jack, in that respect. Two mad little peas in a pod, you and she."

He slapped Jack on the shoulder, a little harder than what might be considered friendly, then, with a low chuckle, walked away, leaving Jack alone with his thoughts ...

* * *

Will sat in Jack's chair, frowning down at the mostly-empty bottle on the table. He had finally gotten Elizabeth to fall asleep, but it had taken practically the whole bottle of rum to do it. Until then, he had had to endure the agonising sight of her, weeping uncontrollably, pulling at her hair until it hung like a tattered curtain around her tear-stained face, and the heart-rending sounds of her screaming out her grief, like a wounded animal. He didn't know what to do for her, except hold her in his arms, kiss and stroke her hair, and murmur soothing, impotent words of empty comfort to her, and hope that, in some small way, it helped ...

Even now, in her rum-induced slumber, she still slept fitfully, crying out in her restless sleep, "Father! No! I won't let you die!" as fresh tears ran out from under her closed eyelids.

Will sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to run his hand up and down her arm, trying to calm her, like one would an animal in distress. He wished with all his heart that he could do something for her, make the pain go away, make things right, erase the past several months, bring that beautiful smile back to her face—

_Damn Cutler Beckett! _he thought, bitterly. If not for him and his machinations, Elizabeth and he would be happily married right now, building a new life together, perhaps even expecting their first child ... not here, literally in the middle of nowhere, stranded in a world that hovered somewhere between life and death, trying to find their way back to the land of the living. Elizabeth's father would be safe and sound back in Port Royal, and the tragic events of the past year—events that threatened to shatter their lives beyond repair—would never have happened.

Lost in his dark thoughts, it took him a moment to realise that Elizabeth was murmuring something in her sleep. He stroked her fevered brow, and leaned closer to hear what she was saying ...

"Jack!" she moaned in her sleep. "Jack! Please ..."

Will drew back, confused, and a little bit hurt. Why was she crying out for Jack? Why did she need _him_? What could Jack give her that he himself could not provide?

He leaned even closer. "Elizabeth!" he called out in a harsh whisper, trying to wake her, to see what she wanted. "Elizabeth, wake up ..."

But she grew even more agitated, her head thrashing from side to side on her sweat-stained pillow. "Jack!" she cried out again. "I want you ... Jack!"

With a deep sigh, Will rose from the bed, looking down at Elizabeth. He thought again of what he had seen earlier that evening ... Elizabeth, hurrying from this very cabin, hair mussed and her clothing askew.

A wave of jealousy hit him, hard, and her earlier words came back to him: _"You thought I loved him ..." _At the time, it had sounded like a denial—but, come to think of it, she never _did _deny it outright, did she?

Though he hated himself for thinking it, he couldn't help considering the possibility: Were she and Jack … lovers?

He looked down at her again, at the cherished face of the girl he had loved, mostly from afar, for the past ten years. _No, it can't be ... she wouldn't ... _But then, before today, he could never picture her chaining Jack to a mast and leaving him to die either ... Perhaps he didn't know her nearly as well as he thought he did ...

_Well, if it's Jack she wants ... _he thought, then he turned on his heel and left the cabin, in search of the pirate ...

* * *

"Jack ..."

Jack Sparrow looked up from yet another intense study of Sao Feng's map, trying to work out its secret by the light of an oil lantern, to see Will standing above him, a grim look on his face that Jack couldn't quite interpret.

"William ... what ...? Is Elizabeth all right?" he asked. Though his face remained carefully neutral, there was a slight tightening in his chest, a fist of fear closing round his heart. Something flickered across the lad's face, and for a moment he looked almost hostile. Then his features relaxed again.

"Jack ... she's asking for you. She ..." He paused, and his next words seemed to be spoken with great difficulty, as though he had to force them out. "She needs you."

He eyed Will warily. "She's _your _fiancée, William ... and therefore _your_ responsibility, not mine. Besides, what can _I_ possibly do for her that you're not able to do?"

Will's lips hardened into a thin line, his jaw tightening. "I—I don't know. I've done everything I can think to do for her, but apparently it isn't enough." He sighed, and some of the tension left his face. "The rum helped her to sleep, but she's very troubled in her rest, and seems to be having nightmares. She's crying out for _you _..."

Jack's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "For me, eh? I can't think why—"

"Jack!" Will snapped, and when the young man's eyes met his, Jack could see the pain and distress in them. "Elizabeth's mother died when she was just a small girl. Her father was all she had, the only family she's known since coming to Port Royal. He was her world ... and now she's lost him, and I'm afraid ..." His voice choked off, and it took him a moment before he was able to continue, "I'm afraid a part of her is dying as well." His eyes implored, warm chocolate-brown to Jack's near-black. "Please—just help her," he said, quietly, pleadingly. "I know, after what she did, you have every reason to want to see her suffer. But, for God's sake, if you ever cared for her at all, even a little bit ... please, help her ..."

Jack stared back impassively at Will, the refusal already settling on his lips, ready to be spoken. He really didn't want to be alone with Elizabeth again, particularly not after what had nearly happened between them earlier ... But then a cry bordering on a scream came from the cabin, and Will looked up, desperation written across his face.

"Elizabeth!" he cried in alarm, then clutched Jack's arm in an almost painful grip. When he turned his eyes back to Jack, the pirate was stunned to see the glimmer of tears standing in Will's eyes. "Jack ... _please_!"

Jack looked down, frowning at the hand encircling his upper arm, then, shaking off Will's grasp, he sighed deeply, in resignation. "All right, William." He clapped a sympathetic hand on Will's shoulder as he rose. "I'll do what I can."

* * *

When Jack entered the cabin, he experienced a feeling of _déjà vu_—the room glowing with the illumination of dozens of candles, Elizabeth ensconced in his bed, the amber light turning her burnished hair to spun gold. But instead of restful slumber and gentle sighs, or whispered words fuelled by dreams of passion, Elizabeth tossed and turned in the bed, fully dressed in her black Asian garb, whimpering in distress, the bedclothes tangled around her, her face wet with sweat and tears.

"Jack ..." she murmured in her sleep.

He knelt by the bed, and, after a second's hesitation, reached out to stroke her damp forehead. "I'm here, luv," he said, softly. "It's all right ... I'm here." One of her hands clutched spasmodically at the bedclothes, and Jack moved to take it in his, raising it to his lips and kissing it gently. Her eyes drifted open after a moment, her brow furrowing as she squinted at his face, and a wan smile twitched her lips. "Jack?"

"Yes, luv."

"Oh, Jack, I've just had the most horrible dream!" She took a breath that hitched on a sob. "I dreamt my father was dead."

He looked at her with pity in his eyes, and his former resolve to sublimate all gentler emotions melted away like spun sugar in the rain. He hated to shatter her illusion, but nothing would be served by letting her go on believing a lie. Best to yank the tooth quickly, get the pain over with, so the healing could begin ... "I'm sorry, luv." He held her hand more tightly, between both of his. "I'm afraid it _wasn't _a dream."

His heart ached for her as he saw his words slowly register, saw her face freeze in disbelief, then crumple in desolation, her swollen eyes awash with fresh tears. "No!" she moaned. "Oh God, no!"

She buried her face in the pillow, her body heaving with the force of the sobs wracking her slender form. For all that he wanted to kill her a few short hours ago—exact his vengeance on her, collect his pound of flesh for leaving him to the Kraken—Jack now found himself wanting nothing more than to take this pain away from her. He silently cursed himself for a fool even as he opened his heart up to her, forgiving her all her past transgressions, wiping the slate clean between them. As far as he was concerned, they were square now. Any punishment he might have devised for her could not possibly be worse than this ...

He slipped into bed next to her, and carefully gathered her into his arms, holding her close as her grief overwhelmed her, shuddering through her body with the violence of an earthquake, raining emotional destruction down on her like so much falling debris. Her fists clutched at his shirt, and he threaded the fingers of one hand into her hair, caressingly, clasping her head to his strong chest while she cried, and cried, and cried ...

Jack sighed, and rested his braided chin on the top of her blonde hair. He had never had much patience with distraught women, often meeting emotional outbursts with an exasperated bellow of _"Shut it!" _But Elizabeth's cries cut through him with sharp talons of agony, tearing at his heart, leaving him with an unaccustomed, and totally frustrating, feeling of helplessness.

He leaned down, and, cupping her chin in one hand, he lifted her face to his—a face still beautiful to him, despite the tearstains and red puffy eyes—and let his lips lazily drift across her cheeks, tracing the teardrops that lay like a dew of sea spray upon her skin, and when he softly kissed her mouth, he could taste the lingering traces of rum and salt upon her trembling lips—a heady combination for a seafaring man, intoxicating, irresistible.

He kissed her as if he were trying to draw all her pain, all her woe, all her suffering into himself, siphon it away like deadly venom from a snakebite. He wanted to heal her breaking heart, leave her tortured soul fresh and clean and whole, and as full of promise and hope as a dewy, newly-dawned morning. After a moment, she started to respond, her sobs subsiding, her mouth moving under his, feeding gently, drinking in succour and solace and, he hoped, some small measure of peace.

As if by some unspoken mutual accord, the kiss deepened, transforming from a gesture of comfort, to a sating of passion ...

He felt a touch of warmth against his chest, and then Elizabeth's hand was wandering across his body, gliding up the front of his linen shirt to find the bare skin beyond the open "v" of his neckline. As her mouth became more insistent, urging his open, her rum-laced breath wafted gently across his tongue like a warm Jamaican breeze.

He closed his eyes and let himself surrender to the ardour of the moment, losing himself in the caress of her sweet salty lips, the feel of her delicate hand skimming down his body, until her fingers brushed lightly against the front of his breeches ...

With a moan and a strange feeling of loss, he pulled himself away from the lush banquet of her mouth and grabbed her probing hand, gingerly removing it before drawing it up to his lips for a lingering kiss. "No, luv ..."

Her red-rimmed eyes stared up at him in confusion. "But ... it's what you've wanted, isn't it? From the very first day we met?"

His mind went back to that day on the docks of Port Royal … Elizabeth, in little but her wet shift, pressed close to him, belly to belly, graceful pale arms wrapped around him as she worked to refasten his baldric and belt. Shackled arms draped languidly around her neck, his eyes slipped past her right shoulder to fix a wicked lopsided grin and lazy-eyed gaze on Commodore stick-up-his-arse Norrington, deliberately trying to get a rise out of the man, even as he himself was getting a rise … of a much different sort … from the beautiful, fiery young miss squirming most deliciously in his arms …

_Easy on the goods, darlin' ..._

"Aye," he confessed, "but not now ... not this way."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" His eyes were filled with tenderness as they met hers. "Because you lost your father tonight, luv, and that's leavin' a big hole in your heart you're desperately achin' to fill. And you have nearly a full bottle of rum in you, and that's cloudin' your judgment." His lips twisted into a rueful smile. "And only the lowest order of cad would take advantage of a girl when she's so lost in sorrow and rum that she can't possibly know what she's doing."

He heard her sharp intake of breath, before she whispered in a shaky, disconsolate voice. "Oh, Jack ... what am I going to do without him? He's the one person in my life who's always been there for me, who hasn't abandoned me or ... died, like my mother." She closed her eyes, and he felt her fingers tightening again in his shirt.

He kissed the top of her head, smiling grimly. "You do what you have to do, luv. Do your grievin' for your dad, then move on with the business of life ..." His smile turned slightly feral, "And plot your revenge upon the murderin' bastard responsible for sendin' him to his untimely end. Take it from me, luv—revenge is a most excellent cure for heartache, or at the very least an effective way of distractin' one from it ..."

Elizabeth gasped, and he knew that, awash in grief as she was for her father, she hadn't yet thought too much on the precise circumstances surrounding Weatherby Swann's death. "You're certain he was murdered?"

"Aren't you, considerin' in whose tender care you left him?" Jack said, matter-of-factly.

Elizabeth's face darkened, dangerously. "Cutler Beckett ..." she spat, as if the name was the vilest oath.

Jack nodded. "Aye. The very man."

"I should have shot him when I had the chance!" Elizabeth snarled between clenched teeth, hatred temporarily overcoming sorrow. "If I ever see him again, I won't make that same mistake ..." Her lips spread as she bared her pearly teeth in a slow, shark's smile. "He is a dead man."

Jack smiled coldly against the top of her head, his eyes glittering black ice that reflected back the light, but not the warmth, of the room's candleglow. "Good girl!" he said in a deadly purr. He only hoped that he would be there to witness Cutler Beckett's long overdue downfall when it came ... he had scores to settle with the soddin' manipulative bastard himself!

He recalled, fresh as if it were yesterday, the blaze of unbearable pain as Beckett applied the brand to his forearm, the nauseating reek of scorched hair and searing flesh permeating the air as the red-hot metal left its excruciating, indelible mark on him. He heard again his own hoarse scream of agony ringing out, echoing in his ears, mingling with the manic trill of Beckett's sadistic laughter ...

He felt an arm steal around his waist, as Elizabeth snuggled even more closely to him. "Promise me you'll stay with me tonight, Jack," she whispered. "I don't want to be alone. I don't want to face the nightmares by myself ..."

His arm tightened around her. "I'll be here, luv ... I promise. Now, rest your weary head, darlin', and get some sleep." He settled her against his shoulder, and he heard her sigh, her warm breath drifting softly against his neck as she relaxed against him ...

* * *

A few hours later, Will eased open the door to the cabin and peeked inside to check on Elizabeth and Jack. His eyes alit on the bed where Jack sprawled comfortably, ankles crossed, Elizabeth nestled in the crook of his arm, asleep, her blonde head pillowed on his shoulder, her hand curled upon his chest, like a child lost in peaceful slumber. Even though both were fully clothed, Will was struck by the intimacy inherent in their attitude of shared repose, the ease with which they fit together, one against the other ...

He sighed, convinced all the more that there was more to Elizabeth and Jack's relationship than met the eye ...

Soft as the sound was, Jack turned his head, his dark eyes fixing on Will. Lifting an elegant ring-adorned finger to his lips, and gracefully inclining his head toward Elizabeth's now-serene face, he pled wordlessly for Will's silence. Elizabeth shifted in her sleep, and with a soft exhalation of breath and moan of drowsy pleasure, she cuddled even more closely to Jack, and his arm automatically tightened around her, gathering her nearer.

Will nodded, retreated, and closed the door soundlessly, resigning himself to the fact that he had lost Elizabeth's heart to Jack, and fighting the burning wave of jealousy and resentment that rose within him.

But he'd have the last laugh on Captain Jack Sparrow. Once they returned to the land of the living and he met up with Sao Feng at the agreed-upon island, he would pay the pirate back in kind—by stealing Jack's _other _love, the _Black Pearl_,right out from under his very nose ...

* * *


	5. Bargains & Betrayals 1: On the Pearl

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

_**

* * *

Author's Note:** My apologies for the long delay in posting new chapters, but I've not had much free time lately to work on the story due to RL commitments (darn it!), and a woman needs to get more than 3 hours of sleep a night, after all! This chapter ended up being a very lo-o-ng one, so I've decided to break it into two parts, out of mercy for my readers! ;-) _

_Please also be forwarned that upcoming Chapters 6 and 7 (which I also hope to be able to post shortly) will contain a prodigious amount of Sparrabeth smut._

_As usual, nothing about POTC belongs to me, but rather is the property of the Great and All-Powerful Mouse and his minions._

_Hope you enjoy, and please feel free to leave reviews._

_'Ta for now ..._

_-- Cat_ **

* * *

**

**- Chapter 4 -  
Bargains and Betrayals  
Part I: On the _Pearl_**

After Jack had led them in capsizing the _Pearl, _effectively effecting their return to the land of the living, Will had directed them to an island containing a freshwater spring, where they planned to replenish their supplies before continuing on their journey to Shipwreck Cove. The two feuding captains had left the _Pearl _in Will's temporary care—at Will's own suggestion—in order to lead a landing party to the island … opting to go together, since neither trusted the other not to run off with the _Pearl _whilst the other was ashore.

Upon their arrival, they had discovered a grisly and quite humbling sight awaiting them on the beach: the massive putrescent carcase of the Kraken ... once a terrifyingly unstoppable and all but invincible instrument of Davy Jones' vengeance ... now little more than fodder for the hungry scavenging gulls pecking at its lifeless flesh.

Jack knew from personal experience the panic and desperation evoked by the Kraken, and the lengths to which a man would go to elude the clutches of Davy Jones' powerful leviathan. But even he had been unable to forestall the inevitable, and when tentacled mucus-spewing death had at last stared him in the face, and escape was no longer an option, Jack Sparrow, with nothing left to lose, had faced his fate courageously and flung himself, sword raised heroically, into the beast's deadly maw with mad bravado and a feral grin ...

It was a moment that still haunted his nightmares …

That such a fearsome and indomitable creature—a monster who, according to legend, was nigh indestructible; able to drive even the most seasoned seafarer to throw himself on his own sword rather than face its wrath—could be brought to this ... reduced to so much rotting carrion on an isolated beach ...

It was enough to make a man contemplate his _own_ fragile mortality, and come to some very depressing conclusions.

"Still thinkin' of runnin', Jack?" Barbossa had taunted as Jack stood staring grimly into the Kraken's huge, iridescent eye—once alive with murderous menace, now vacant of life and glassy in death. "Think you can outrun the world?" He came closer, until he was standing right beside Jack, staring at his profile, his voice dropping to a low rumble, like one good mate to another. "Ye know, the problem with bein' the last of anythin' … by and by, there be none left at all ..."

Jack lifted his chin slightly in a small shrug, and turned to Barbossa. "Sometimes things come back, mate," Jack said, with the ghost of an ironic smile drifting across his lips. "We're livin' proof, you and me."

"Aye, but that's a gamble of long odds, ain't it?" the older pirate intoned, morosely. "There's never a guarantee of comin' back. But passin' on ... that's _dead _certain."

As Jack contemplated Barbossa's words, his thoughts drifted back to the exchange they had had on the deck of the _Pearl_, immediately upon their return from World's End, when Barbossa, Elizabeth, Will, Gibbs, and himself had stood, pistols drawn and trained on one another, in disagreement over their next course of action.

* * *

_"The Brethren Court is a-gatherin' at Shipwreck Cove, and, Jack, you and I are a-goin', and there'll be no arguin' that point," Barbossa had said._

_"I _is _arguin' the point," Jack had countered, "If there's pirates a-gatherin', I'm pointin' my ship the _other _way."_

_"The pirates are gathering to fight Beckett, and you're a pirate," Elizabeth had exhorted, both her pistols trained on Jack, while he marvelled at her cheek at turning on him, after the comfort he had provided her in the wake of her father's death. He couldn't believe she'd have the nerve to kill him—again. Not after begging him so prettily for forgiveness for murdering him the first time. However, he did recall Barbossa's warning, and took it to heart, about how she had acquired a taste for killing …_

_Will also trained both his pistols on Jack, and there was a look in his eyes that almost made the pirate believe that the boy _could _shoot him in cold blood. "Fight or not, you're not running, Jack."_

_"__If we don't stand together, they'll hunt us down, one by one, till there'll be none left … but you," pressed Barbossa._

_A cocky smile lit Jack's face. "__Quite like the sound of that: Captain Jack Sparrow, the Last Pirate."_

_"__Aye … and you'll be fightin' Jones alone. How does that figger into yer plan?__"_

_Jack's smile quickly vanished at Barbossa's words. "__I'm still workin' on that," he muttered. "But I will _not_ be goin' back to the Locker, mate … count on that,__" he had vowed, resolutely._

* * *

No. He would fight tooth and nail, to the last gasp of breath in his body, to prevent returning to _that _little slice of Hell ... even it if meant going along with Barbossa's daft plan ... at least for the time being.

His gaze wandered back to Barbossa. "Summonin' the Brethren Court, then, is it?"

"It's our only hope, lad," the other man said, gently.

Jack's eyes fixed briefly again on the Kraken, in resignation, before drifting off again. "That's a sad commentary in and of itself," Jack said, soberly.

"The world used to be a bigger place," Barbossa lamented.

"The world's still the same," observed Jack. He cast an almost mournful look at the Kraken, and said, with regret, "There's just ... less in it." He turned and walked away.

* * *

Shortly thereafter, they had located the spring—but found it polluted by the dead body of an Asian pirate lying face-down in the water, a spike impaled through its head, from mouth to crown—and Tai Huang and his men had shown their true colours and loyalties by drawing their guns and taking Jack, Barbossa, and the entire landing party prisoner, while Sao Feng's ship, the _Empress_, swooped in on the _Black Pearl_.

The _Empress_ now lay anchored beside her as Barbossa and Jack climbed back aboard the _Pearl_, under the trained pistols of Tai Huang's men.

As they gained the deck, Jack's eyes swept over it, dismayed to find his beloved ship now infested with a swarm of victoriously-cheering Asian pirates. The _Pearl_'s crew had been taken captive—front and centre amongst them being Elizabeth Swann, Joshamee Gibbs, and Tia Dalma, all in irons, chains dangling between their shackled wrists—but, oddly enough, Jack noted, no sign of the person to whom they had temporarily entrusted the _Pearl_'s care … one William Turner, Junior.

A familiar figure stood before them on the deck, back turned to them, his bald head adorned with elaborate tattoos and tendrils of shiny white scars meandering across his scalp like lines traced on a map. Barbossa now approached this man.

"Sao Feng," Barbossa drawled, and the Pirate Lord of Singapore turned to face him, "You showin' up here is truly a remarkable coincidence." Jack surreptitiously slipped behind Barbossa, sucking on one finger ingenuously like a child afraid of being caught in mischief, trying his best to stay out of sight. He knew Sao Feng to hold a personal grudge against him—admittedly, with good cause—and thought, particularly in this case, discretion was definitely the better part of valour.

"Jack Sparrow!" Sao Feng's voice rang out. Jack hazarded a peek around Barbossa, and to his dismay, saw that he had been spotted by the _Empress' _captain. "You paid me great insult once!"

Jack reluctantly left the haven of Barbossa's shadow, flashing him a nervous smile, trying hard to play innocent, turning on the famous Jack Sparrow charm. "That doesn't sound like me ..." he protested, but before he could say more, Sao Feng hauled off and punched Jack right in the nose, eliciting a gasp from several of the onlookers, including Elizabeth. Jack grabbed his injured appendage, shifting it back into place with a crunch of bone and cartilage, despite the pain. "Shall we just call it square, then?" he asked, with a pained half-smile.

Just then, Will appeared, pushing through the throng of Asian pirates gathered around the prisoners. When he saw Elizabeth, standing there in manacles, he pointed to her and, speaking to Sao Feng's back, demanded in an imperious voice not typical of the usually soft-spoken blacksmith, "Release her! She's not part of the bargain!"

_Bargain?_ Jack thought, a sinking feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach. _Oh, William, William … what have you done now? _Negotiating with pirates was definitely _not_ young Turner's strong suit, and whenever Will tried to match wits with more experienced, and infinitely more clever, men, it invariably backfired upon them _all_ in a disastrous way. He expected this to be no different.

Barbossa, with Jack still half-cowering behind him, turned suspicious eyes to Will. "And what bargain be that?" he asked, with quiet menace.

Sao Feng turned to address his men. "You heard Captain Turner! Release her!"

Jack, still holding his sore nose, did a take, eyes widening in surprise at this unexpected turn of events. "_Captain _Turner?"

Gibbs, his weathered face twisted in displeasure, cast a brief, pointed glare at Will as he replied, "Aye! The perfidious rotter led a mutiny against us!"

Jack was stunned. Who'd have thought the whelp would have the sand to foment a mutiny? Certainly, neither he nor Barbossa had given it more than a passing thought when they agreed to leave Will in charge of the _Pearl_. Of course, they had been so busy mistrusting each other that the possibility had occurred to neither of them that Will Turner could pose a serious threat.

"I need the _Pearl _to free my father. That's the _only _reason I came on this voyage," Will said, quietly, and rather callously.

Jack saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Elizabeth, stepping forward, and from the expression on her face, he sensed this confrontation would be yet another nail in the coffin of the crumbling relationship between Swann and Turner. It was a face eerily similar to the one she wore, just after snapping the shackle around his wrist ...

_Go ahead, Lizzie ... _Jack thought, with nothing but the blackest intent against the duplicitous Master Turner. _Give it to him good, and don't spare the firepower ..._

* * *

Elizabeth, freed from her restraints, came up to Will, shock written across her face. "Why didn't you tell me you were planning this?" she asked, incredulously, her tone speaking of hurt tempered with a healthy dose of anger.

Will eyed her a bit coolly before averting his eyes and flinging her own words back at her with, it seemed to her, deliberate cruelty: "It was my burden to bear." His eyes returned to her briefly, his expression studiously bland, before they dropped uneasily under the weight of his fiancée's disbelieving, wounded, and quite furious stare. Elizabeth suddenly felt like she was looking into the face of a stranger ...

_The miserable hypocrite! _she thought to herself. He had made such a fuss about _her _keeping secrets from _him_, twisting the knife of guilt in her guts with a ruthless hand, when he must have been keeping _this _one since before they left Singapore!

Bitter disappointment flooded her. She had presumed that Will, kind soul that he was, had agreed to this rescue mission for the same reason he had saved Jack from the gallows – friendship; or possibly out of consideration for her, to ease her suffering over losing a man he thought she loved. But now, it turned out he was working toward his _own_ purposes all the time?

She fumed. At least when _she _had betrayed Jack and sacrificed him to the Kraken, it had been to save the entire crew ... including Will. But Will had betrayed her—betrayed them _all_—placed them all at the mercy of the untrustworthy Sao Feng, fuelled by his own selfish desire ... nay, his _obsession _... to save one man, and one man only ... his father—a man he barely knew, who had all but abandoned him and his mother for a secret life of piracy when Will was just a young boy. But apparently the life (or, rather, the _after_life) of his father was more important to him than keeping the promises and commitments he had made to everyone else, including his own bloody _fiancée_!

But even as she seethed inside, her anger burning hot and bright like a thousand blazing suns within her, her heart and soul were crying out, keening like some wounded animal, at the loss of Will's love for her. For, if he still loved her, how could he then do this to her, so heartlessly? Did he despise her so much now, that her feelings no longer mattered to him?

* * *

In the awkward silence that followed, with Elizabeth casting daggers at Will with her eyes, Jack sauntered forward. He pointed to Will. "_He _needs the _Pearl_. _Captain Turner _needs the _Pearl_," he said, his lilting voice dripping sarcasm. He turned to Elizabeth, "And _you _felt guilty." Then, to Barbossa, "And _you _and your Brethren Court!" Flinging his arms wide melodramatically, he said to the assembly in general, in a mock-wounded tone, "Did _no one _come to save me _just _because they missed me?"

After a long moment, Marty flung up his hand, followed shortly after by Cotton, Pintel, Ragetti ... _and_, lastly, Jack the monkey.

With a pleased smile, Jack said, "I'm going to stand over there with them!" He turned to do so, but he'd only taken two steps when Sao Feng grabbed him by the back of his neck.

He bent close to Jack's face. "I'm sorry, Jack," he said, not sounding in the least bit contrite, "but there is an old friend who wants to see you first ..."

"I'm not certain I can survive any more visits from old friends," Jack quipped, sardonically.

Sao Feng forced Jack to the side of the ship, looking out over the water. "Here is your chance to find out!" he said in an anticipatory voice, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Jack raised his eyes, and saw Beckett's ship, the _Endeavour_, quickly approaching the _Pearl_. He felt his heart sink into his boots ...

_Bugger!_

* * *

Once Jack had been transferred to the EITC's flagship for his reluctant reunion with Cutler Beckett, longboats from the _Endeavour _started arriving at the _Pearl_, carrying Beckett's henchman, Mercer, and a contingent of soldiers in the employ of the East India Trading Company.

As Beckett's forces swarmed aboard the _Pearl_, Sao Feng confronted Mercer, with marked displeasure. "My men are crew enough."

Mercer's scarred face twisted in a slight sneer, "Company ship, Company crew."

Will confronted Sao Feng, Elizabeth at his side. "You agreed!" he said to the Pirate Lord. "The _Black Pearl _was to be mine!"

"And so it was!" Sao Feng replied coolly. One quick nod to his men, and they surged forward, punching Will in the stomach with a savage blow that bent him over double and effectively knocked the breath out of him, before dragging him off to bind him in chains, along with Elizabeth.

Once Will and Elizabeth had been bound, Sao Feng turned again to Mercer, stopping his retreat mid-step with a hand on his shoulder. Mercer half-turned his face toward the Pirate Lord. "Beckett agreed ... the _Black Pearl _was to be mine!"

Mercer's flinty eyes locked with Sao Feng's as he said, condescendingly, "Lord Beckett's not going to give up the only ship that can outrun the _Dutchman_, is he?" Then, casting a cold look down at the long-nailed fingers clutching his shoulder, he waited as Sao Feng at last removed them from his person, then turned his back pointedly, in a direct insult to the Pirate Lord, and walked away.

As a look of fury suffused Sao Feng's face at the deliberate affront, Barbossa stepped forward. "Shame they're not bound to honour the Code of the Brethren, isn't it?" His voice was insinuating as he delivered the subtle barb, "Because honour's a hard thing to come by nowadays."

The Pirate Lord's hard gaze fixed on Barbossa's face. "There is no honour to remaining with the losing side," Sao Feng replied. "Leaving it for the winning side is just good business," he hissed, echoing Lord Beckett's favourite catchphrase.

"The losing side, you say?" Barbossa said, his tone slyly confident, like a card player who knows he holds the winning hand, unbeknownst to his opponent.

Sao Feng's eyes blazed as he flung his arm out in the direction of the _Endeavour_. "_They _have the _Dutchman_. Now the _Pearl_. And what do the Brethren have?"

Barbossa smiled, playing his winning hand as he said in a low, rough whisper. "We have ... _Calypso_!"

Sao Feng stared at Barbossa, eyes narrowing, as though assessing his veracity ... or his sanity. Will and Elizabeth looked on, wondering what Barbossa's game was, but knowing that everything hinged on the Asian pirate's reaction to Barbossa's gambit.

Sao Feng's gaze travelled past Barbossa's shoulder, to fix on Elizabeth with a speculative and quite covetous look in his eye that made her spine stiffen with unease. She shifted restlessly and, unconsciously, sidled a little closer to Will. After a beat, he said, with a mocking smile, "Calypso!" His face reflecting mild puzzlement, Barbossa looked over his own shoulder, to see what had caught the Pirate Lord's attention. When his grey eyes touched upon Elizabeth, they narrowed slightly, before sliding back to the Asian pirate. "An old legend!" Sao Feng concluded, dismissively.

Barbossa stepped nearer. "No ... the goddess herself, bound in human form!" His voice dropped low, persuasive, attempting to lure him in. "Imagine, all the power of the seas, brought to bear against our enemy! I intend to release her, but for that I need the Brethren Court." He fingered one of the pendants hanging from Sao Feng's neck. "_All _the Court!"

Sao Feng eyed him, wary, but clearly interested, then turned and walked away from Barbossa and toward Elizabeth, his gaze upon her containing a banked heat of such intensity that it made her squirm. "What are you proposing, Captain?" he asked, never taking his eyes from Elizabeth.

Barbossa came up next to him, and gave him an oily grin, with a voice to match. "What be ye acceptin', Cap'n?"

A disquietingly rapacious light flared in Sao Feng's eyes, like a hungry predator sniffing fresh prey, as he breathed, "The girl!"

Elizabeth's eyes went wide in surprise. "What?!"

Will said, quite firmly, "Elizabeth is not part of any bargain!"

Barbossa concurred. "Out of the question!" he said, but with a little less conviction than Will, the slippery tone of his voice clearly conveying his willingness to negotiate, despite his words of refusal.

Sao Feng's lips tightened to a hard, thin line. "It was _not _a question!"

In the charged silence that followed, Elizabeth spoke, a single word, calmly and steadily meeting Sao Feng's gaze. "Done!"

Will's jaw dropped, his eyes going wide as he spun to stare at Elizabeth, "What?!" he exclaimed in surprise. But her eyes were hard, her face fixed like a marble sculpture as she gazed unflinchingly at Sao Feng. When he turned back to the pirate, those burning almond eyes were still fixed on Elizabeth, a smile of triumph, of satisfaction, of anticipation on his scarred face. "_Not _done!" Will said, adamantly, then turned to look directly into Elizabeth's face, silently pleading with her to change her mind, to rescind her words.

She stared resolutely back at him, her eyes regarding him narrowly with a withering look. "_You _got us into this mess!" she said, crossly, "If _this _is what frees us, then _done_!" Her sanguine gaze returned to Sao Feng and Barbossa.

Placing himself between her and Sao Feng, Will stared at her, unbelievingly. "Elizabeth ... they are _pirates_!" he said, rather fatuously.

Elizabeth replied through her teeth, her voice rife with anger directed at Will, "I have had more than enough experience dealing with pirates!" Raising her shackled hands, she shoved him, hard, in the chest, and he finally stood down, a look of shock written across his face.

Barbossa smiled at Elizabeth, displaying his crooked, stained teeth. "Then we have an accord?" he said, hopefully, before turning his unctuous smile on Sao Feng. It seemed they had, indeed, come to an agreement.

* * *


	6. Bargains & Betrayals 2: On the Endeavour

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

* * *

**- Chapter 5 -  
Bargains and Betrayals  
Part II: On the _Endeavour_**

Meanwhile, on the _Endeavour_, Jack was escorted by two soldiers into the presence of one Lord Cutler Beckett, who stood by the wide bank of windows that embraced the ship's largest and grandest cabin, his back to Jack, gazing out the port-side windows overlooking the anchored _Black Pearl _and, beyond it, the _Empress_.

After shoving him unceremoniously into the cabin, the soldiers withdrew and closed the glass-paned double doors, then positioned themselves outside them, as sentries, leaving Jack alone with the man ... once a friend, then an employer, but now one of his bitterest enemies. The pirate stood in the entryway, rubbing his recently-shackled wrists, casting his gaze around the room, taking in his surroundings, and the opulent yet tasteful furnishings. In contrast to the main cabin on the _Black Pearl_, with its dark wood panelling, the _Endeavour_'s Great Cabin was resplendent in sedate shades of cream above wainscoting painted a soft dove grey.

Beckett spoke without turning, in that smooth, softly insinuating voice that Jack hated with a vengeance ... along with the man from whom it issued. "Curious ... your friends seem to be quite desperate, Jack. Perhaps they no longer believe that a gathering of squabbling pirates can defeat the _Flying Dutchman_."

While Beckett spoke, Jack moved around the cabin, snooping, checking into every little box or receptacle that might be large enough to contain a disembodied human heart ...

"And so despair leads to betrayal," Beckett continued, "But you and I are no strangers to betrayal, are we?" he said, with just a hint of snide irony in his voice.

Reaching for another box, Jack's sleeve fell away from his wrist, revealing the "P" brand on his forearm. Jack regarded it grimly, the crush of memories momentarily bringing a dark, haunted look to his face.

Jack reflected on his history with this man, whom he had not seen since they last parted company, on the most horrifically unfriendly terms, more than thirteen years ago. At the time, Jack had been engaged for several years in honest labour, captaining various merchant ships for Beckett and the East India Trading Company.

One day, Beckett had offered him command of the best ship in his fleet—a swift and beautiful three-masted galleon called the _Wicked Wench_, that Jack had had a covetous eye on for years and had long wished to captain—with the proviso that he transport a then-unnamed cargo from Africa to the Caribbean, according to Beckett's instructions. Jack had readily (and foolishly) agreed, without question, eager to achieve his long-held dream and ambition of captaining the _Wench_. From the first moment he took her wheel—his fingers stroking her spokes lovingly, feeling her respond like a new, blushing bride under the gentle guidance of his hands—he had been hopelessly in love. He imagined that there had never been a more glorious, perfect union of captain and ship in the history of navigation ...

However, what Beckett had failed to mention was that the "cargo" entrusted to Jack were human beings: Africans bound for the slave markets of the Caribbean. In order to increase his personal profits, Beckett had decided to dabble—on the side, and independent of the EITC—in the highly lucrative business of slave trafficking.

Appalled that he had been used in such a manner, and acting in accordance with his own conscience and personal principles, Jack released the shipload of slaves, breaking his covenant with Beckett. When he learned of Jack's betrayal, Beckett, in a cold rage, declared him rogue—a pirate—and sent armed ships to sink the _Wench _and arrest Jack. Upon his capture, Jack had been forced to watch as his beautiful ship was destroyed, battered and burnt before his very eyes, looking on helplessly as her blackened hull sank with deadly finality to the bottom of the sea. Afterward, Beckett had had him whipped and beaten and branded a pirate (Beckett had taken obscene pleasure in administering the brand himself).

Perhaps, worst of all, while Jack had been chained, incapacitated and delirious from the after-effects of his beatings and branding, Beckett had taken the opportunity to act physically upon feelings he had long harboured for Jack—romantic feelings, that Jack had consistently and repeatedly rebuffed, to Beckett's chagrin and increasing frustration.

In retribution for his violation, Jack, after effecting his escape from Beckett's clutches, had confronted him, bound him as helplessly as Beckett had done Jack, and left his mark on the man, employing his dagger to carve the name of his heinous and unforgivable crime in a highly sensitive part of Beckett's anatomy—deep enough that the resulting scars would forever brand him for the crime of rape even as Jack's own brand, undeservedly administered, would forever mark him, in the eyes of the world and the authorities, as a pirate—all the while reminding his former employer and torturer that he was being extraordinarily charitable by not setting his knife to a permanent removal of that part which had been the instrument of said violation.

It had been one night shortly thereafter—when Jack had descended into the blackest pits of despair, and in a drunken fit of insanity, tried to follow his beloved ship to the ocean's bottom, nearly drowning himself in the process—that Davy Jones had found him, and a hellish bargain had been struck ...

And the _Wicked Wench _was reborn as the _Black Pearl _...

And Captain Jack Sparrow, from that point onward, was reborn as a pirate ...

As Jack stood there, frozen in reverie, Beckett at last turned around. "It's not here, Jack."

Jack spun toward Beckett, his face betraying nothing. "What? What isn't?"

There was a smirk in his tone, though not yet in his carefully-maintained bland expression, as Beckett replied, "The heart of Davy Jones. It's safely aboard the _Dutchman_, and so unavailable to use for leverage to satisfy your debt to the good Captain." There, at last, the subtle, thin-lipped smirk made its appearance ...

"By my reckoning, that account has been settled," Jack replied, casually strolling around the cabin, pausing before an incomplete—and rather idealised—portrait of the other man: dressed in a fine uniform and dark cape, chin nobly turned up, nose in the air, clutching a fine silver-topped walking stick in his left hand, with the flag of the East India Trading Company, billowing proudly in an invisible painted breeze, behind him.

"By your death? And yet, here you are ..."

Jack's eyes darkened as he turned back to Beckett, clutching the same walking stick from the portrait in his right hand, yet his voice remained light in tone, his gold-glinting smile tinged with black humour. "Close your eyes and pretend it's all a bad dream ..." he advised, "That's how _I _get by." He turned back to the portrait and, mockingly, struck an exaggerated version of the same pompous, nose-in-the-air pose, looking like a rather scruffier, if considerably more dashingly handsome, mirror-image of the depiction ...

"And if Davy Jones were to learn of your survival?" a mildly threatening note entered Beckett's voice, and Jack's face grew serious.

While Jack turned over the meaning of his old adversary's words, Beckett moved to a small table next to his desk, containing a fine cut-glass decanter, along with four petite gold-rimmed aperitif glasses, and filled two of them with his finest brandy. Jack approached, drawn by the prospect of alcohol, and waiting for Beckett to come to the point ... to state precisely what he had in mind, cunning and twisted as that mind was. Negotiating with Beckett was akin to engaging in an intricate dance, each move and countermove a step in the dance; one misstep, and the whole thing went to Hell. But, invariably, it was up to Beckett to initiate the dance, take the lead ...

And, as Jack expected, Beckett didn't disappoint ...

"Perhaps you will consider an alternative arrangement?" Beckett said smoothly, picking up the two small goblets and turning back to Jack. "One which requires absolutely nothing from you ..." he approached and offered a glass to Jack, "... but information."

Jack stared at the tiny glass for a moment, then down at Beckett's desk, upon which stood, atop a map, rank after rank of little lead soldiers, arranged in semicircular rows, all dressed in EITC colours, who appeared to be guarding at their rear an array of nine shining pieces of eight. He then turned his gaze back to the proffered glass, then up to Beckett's face, before gingerly taking the vessel between two fingers of his right hand. "Regarding the Brethren Court, no doubt?" Jack shrewdly surmised.

Beckett smirked, and started raising his own drink to his lips, but Jack reached out with his left hand and quickly appropriated Beckett's glass as well. Beckett's face reflected mild annoyance at this as Jack continued, "In exchange for fair compensation ..." Jack raised the first glass to his lips, throwing his head back and downing the liquor in one swallow, "I square my debt with Jones ..." He downed the second glass in the same manner, "... guarantee my freedom?" He put the now-empty glasses down on the desk.

"Of course," Beckett replied, silkily, pouring refills from the crystal decanter, then glancing back at Jack. "It's just good business."

Picking up and regarding one of the lead soldiers—this one a Commander in a painted white wig and an outfit similar to the one Beckett now wore, and indeed bore an uncanny resemblance to him—Jack said, nonchalantly but with a sly undertone, "Were I in a divulgatory mood, what then might I divulge?"

Beckett stepped forward with the replenished glasses. He drew almost intimately close to Jack, his tone eager as he lowered his voice and his cool blue eyes studied Jack's swarthy face in profile. "Everything!" Jack turned to look down at him, eyes hooded. "Where are they meeting? Who are the Pirate Lords?" Jack turned away again, and Beckett was practically whispering in Jack's ear now, almost like a bosom friend, or an old lover. At that last thought, Jack's stomach did a slow roll, and with an effort he pushed those disturbing and unwanted old memories away as Beckett's warm breath wafted against the side of his face. "What is the purpose of the nine pieces of eight?"

Jack moved away, uncomfortable of the other's proximity but refusing to let it show, and held up a finger. "Ah ... but before I ... divulge ... let us first firm up our terms." He moved away, farther into the room, touching or picking up random objects as he passed.

Beckett's face twisted momentarily in annoyance as his eyes followed Jack around the cabin. "I thought we had just agreed to the terms?"

"Not quite," Jack smiled back, a show of teeth that wasn't altogether friendly. He picked up a painted oriental fan, furled it open with a snap of his wrist, then closed it again, toying with it between the thumb and index finger of each hand, as his eyes slid up to Beckett's, meeting his with a steady intensity. "I want to know what's to happen in regard to me crew?"

Beckett, unfazed by Jack's basilisk gaze, waved a dismissive hand. "That's really of no importance to me," he said, with the merest hint of impatience. He walked over to his desk, seating himself behind it with cool indifference. "_They're _of no real importance to me."

Jack's eyes hardened, along with his voice, and, almost violently, he flicked his wrist and the fan opened with a resounding _snap _that echoed through the cabin like a pistol shot. "Aye. But the matter is important to _me_," he said, firmly.

Beckett fixed Jack with a calculating stare. "Very well. Name your terms, and we shall see if we can come to an accord."

Jack deliberately turned his back on Beckett, pacing as he turned options over in his mind, then spun back, fluttering the fan in front of his face, considering, as he slowly re-approached Beckett. "You can keep Barbossa ... the belligerent homunculus and his friend with the wooden eye, both." Closing the fan with a snap, he stepped right up to the desk. "And Turner ..." his voice oozed quiet menace. A hard look came into his eyes as he placed his fisted hands on a wooden box at on the very front edge of the desk and leaned forward. "_Especially _Turner!"

Oh, yes, he'd teach young William a lesson or two about playing at pirates … and about what happens when someone tries to steal his _Pearl_. Though Bootstrap was an old mate of his, and Jack had made every effort to be accommodating to the son of what had once been his closest friend—and even, on rare occasions, actually _liked _the boy—William had strained his patience time and time again beyond the limits of his endurance, and Jack was finding it increasingly difficult to remain on friendly terms with the whelp. Not that he begrudged Bootstrap his chance at deliverance from the fate Jones had decreed for him—if the boy could secure that for him, all well and good—but as the lad already had the _girl _Jack wanted (though, perhaps, wouldn't for long, given their current strained relationship), he'd be _damned_ if he got the _Pearl_ as well. Not after everything Jack had been through for the sake of that ship …

Jack continued, "The rest go with me aboard the _Pearl_, and I'll lead you to Shipwreck Cove, where I will hand you the pirates and you will _not _hand me to Jones." He snapped open the fan again, waving it, as Beckett sat and considered the proposal, rolling one of the pieces of eight between his elegant, manicured fingers. "Bloody fair deal, don't you think?"

"And what becomes of Miss Swann?" Beckett asked with practiced nonchalance, his gaze sliding back up to fix on Jack, and there was something there at the back of those watery blue eyes that disturbed Jack greatly. He recalled what Elizabeth had said to him, when they had been en route to Isla Cruces, when he had asked her how she had managed to get Beckett to sign and surrender the Letters of Marque.

_"Persuasion," she had said._

_"Friendly?" Jack had asked, insinuatingly._

_Elizabeth's eyes had hardened. "Decidedly not."_

And her heated words, as she lay in his arms, the night she learned of her father's death ...

_"I should have shot him when I had the chance ..."_

Ah! So she had forced Beckett to comply, at gunpoint. He couldn't have been very happy about that! Beckett hated being outmanoeuvred, with a vengeance. Even as Jack's heart swelled with admiration and pride for his spunky Lizzie, he feared for her safety. He knew from personal experience how Beckett dealt with those who crossed him or forced his hand ... and murder, unfortunately, was the _least _of it!

Jack paused. No, he didn't want to give up Elizabeth, not to the likes of Beckett, who absolutely delighted in dispensing cruelty. "What interest is she to you?" he asked, cautiously.

An evil smile spread across Beckett's face and he gave a single, low chuckle. No, being intimately acquainted with Beckett's less-than-savoury proclivities, he _definitely _did not want to turn Elizabeth over to him!

Beckett's smile faded, and he casually tossed the coin back on the table and stood up. "Jack, I've just recalled ..." Jack's expression turned wary as Beckett walked around the side of the desk, and past him. "I've got this wonderful compass which points to whatever I want." He strode across the room to a smaller desk standing opposite his, upon which lay Jack's compass, which had been taken from him by Beckett's guards, before they had clapped him in shackles. He picked it up, and, facing Jack's back, held it out in the palm of his hand. "So for what do I need you?"

Jack turned around, pointing the closed fan toward Beckett to emphasise his argument. "It points to the thing you want most ... and that is _not _the Brethren Court, is it?" Jack said lightly, with a satisfied smirk of his own.

Beckett looked at him steadily. "Then what _is_, Jack?" he asked, softly.

Jack spread his arms, as if it were obvious. "Me ... _dead_."

Beckett's face froze, his eyes narrowing at Jack's words, though he didn't contradict them. Flicking the compass open, he glanced down at it, then snapped it shut again in frustration with a muttered, "Damn!" Apparently, Jack had been spot-on!

He tossed the compass across the room to Jack, and, in return, Jack tossed him the fan.

Beckett's eyes lit as a thought seemed to occur to him, and he brought his left hand up and casually started fanning himself, just as Jack had done earlier. "Although ..." Jack's face froze in trepidation. "... if I kill you, I can use the compass to find ... Shipwreck Cove, is it? ... on my own." He lowered the fan, at the same time bringing up his right hand, which held a small pistol, aimed directly at Jack. "Cut out the middle man, as it were." He stalked forward, toward Jack, pistol raised and trained at the pirate's chest.

He didn't stop until he was right in front of Jack, in point-blank range.

Seemingly unconcerned, Jack walked around Beckett, who turned and followed him with the pistol. "With me killed, you would arrive at the Cove, find it's a stronghold nigh impregnable ..." He turned and started stalking back toward Beckett, "... able to withstand blockade for years ..." As he advanced, apparently undeterred by the pistol, Beckett retreated, until he was backed up against his desk, with the pistol barrel now pointed up toward Jack's face, "... and then you would be wishing, 'Oh, if only there were someone I had _not _killed inside, to ensure that the pirates then come _out_side.' ..."

Beckett seemed to think this over briefly. "And you can accomplish all this, can you?" he asked, dubiously.

Jack smiled, and spread his arms, backing up a few steps. "You may kill me, but you may never insult me!" he said, surprisingly light-hearted given the situation. He knew he had Beckett ... had seen the frisson of fear in the man's eyes when he had him backed up against the desk. Flinging his arms out again, he said, cheerfully, "Who am I?"

Beckett looked at him blankly, his mouth gapping open a little, seemingly nonplussed by Jack's odd behaviour. He shook his head slightly, his face a mask of puzzlement.

Jack's face fell a bit at Beckett's inability to provide the obvious answer. "'m Cap'n Jack Sparrow!"

Beckett had just opened his mouth as though to say something, when there was an explosion and the port-side windows blew in, spewing broken glass everywhere, and rocking the ship with its impact, knocking Beckett off his feet and into the desk, toppling most of the lead soldiers and sending the pistol flying from his right hand ...

Which Jack promptly leaned down and shook, sealing their agreement. "Done!" he declared, then spun toward the double-doors, flinging them open. The sentries outside, who now stood somewhat bemused at the unexpected attack upon the _Endeavour_, turned and made to enter the room, but, thinking quickly, Jack slammed the doors in their faces, knocking them both senseless. He made his escape down the companionway, as the ship continued to be pummelled by the _Pearl_'s cannon fire ...

* * *

Jack strode nonchalantly out onto the main deck, then turned and scaled the stairs to the quarterdeck. Shortly after, Beckett also emerged, quickly scanning the main deck for a sign of Jack, then casting his gaze over the port-side rail. Looking across at the _Pearl_, Beckett saw that her crew was engaged in a full-out fight with the Company soldiers. Beyond the _Pearl_, Sao Feng's _Empress _was beating a hasty retreat, pointed out to sea, rapidly moving away from the _Pearl _and the _Endeavour_.

On the _Pearl_, swords flashed, and uniformed bodies fell overboard. Trapped on the quarterdeck by Barbossa, Mercer turned and pitched himself over the rail, into the sea between the _Pearl _and the _Endeavour_.

As Beckett's soldiers fired over the rail of the _Endeavour _in the direction of the _Pearl_, Beckett quickly climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck ...

Where Jack Sparrow was busy, wrapping a rope around the rear pommel of a cannon. As Beckett paused to watch, Jack flung the other end of the rope up and over the lowest yardarm ... then held on to the loose end. While Beckett stared, trying to figure out exactly what Jack was about, his gaze fell on the cannon, which was aimed directly at him ...

Perched in the mouth of the cannon was the little lead figure of the Commander, which Jack had apparently pocketed ...

Jack was blowing frantically on the end of a firing-stick, coaxing it aglow.

Beckett realised that Jack intended to fire the cannon! "You're mad!" he said, incredulously.

Jack turned at the sound of Beckett's voice, and said lightly, "Thank goodness for that, because if I wasn't, this would probably never work!"

He grabbed the rope more firmly, then set the firing-stick to the fuse, and the cannon fired, taking out a section of railing not two feet from Beckett's head. Beckett, with surprisingly sharp reflexes, had flung himself aside at the very last moment ...

As the cannon fired, its recoil propelled it all the way back to the stern rail, yanking the rope taut and dragging it across the yardarm, jerking Jack from the deck and propelling him up in the air, swinging him across the gap between the two ships ...

The crew of the _Black Pearl _watched in astonishment as Jack, with a ululating cry, went sailing through the air over their heads. As one, they turned and pounded up the steps to the quarterdeck. Hearing a _splash _in the water off the ship's port side, they looked over the rail, gazing down into the water, searching for Jack, but there was no sign of him!

Barbossa happened to glance toward the back of the ship, then did a double-take at the sight that greeted him ...

Jack Sparrow stood amongst the carved ornamental figures that graced the transom, leaning nonchalantly against one of the huge aft lanterns, legs crossed casually at the ankles. "And that was without even a single drop of rum!" he practically crowed, quite pleased with himself ...

Looking rather disgruntled that he was, again, no longer in sole possession of the _Pearl_, Barbossa angrily sheathed his sword, turned and stalked away.

Jack dropped down from his perch, and advanced on Will, looking none too pleased. As he drew close, Pintel and Ragetti, seeing the look on their reinstated Captain's face, grabbed Will, one at each shoulder, and restrained him, while Jack looked the erstwhile mutineer in the face, his own visage dark with suppressed anger.

"Send this pestilent, traitorous, cow-hearted, yeasty codpiece to the brig!" he said, in a low, dangerous voice.

As they dragged Will off to the brig, the _Pearl_'sbillowing black sails caught the breeze and the ship pulled away, quickly putting distance between her and the _Endeavour_ ...

While, behind them, the mast of said ship, damaged by Jack's errant cannon-fire, slowly toppled over, effectively rendering Beckett's flagship temporarily disabled ...

* * *

The next night found Will Turner—miraculously free from the brig—on the _Pearl_'s foredeck, busily lashing the corpse of an East India Trading Company soldier to a barrel. As he cut the rope with his knife—the black-and-white handled one his father had given him, when they had last seen each other on the _Flying Dutchman_—Will paused to examine the weapon, his brown eyes going unfocused as he lost himself for the moment in memories and contemplation.

_"Take this," Bootstrap had said, pulling the knife from his belt and offering it to Will. "Always meant for you to have it ..."_

_"I will take this ... with a promise," Will had replied. "I will find a way to sever Jones' hold on you. I will not rest until this blade pierces his heart. I promise. I will not abandon you ..."_

A voice suddenly interrupted his wool-gathering ...

"You escaped the brig even quicker than I expected."

Will looked up. Jack Sparrow lounged on the bowsprit, much as a young boy might perch on the branch of a tree, looking quite comfortable. Upon seeing Jack, Will raised his knife, pointing it at the pirate. Even as Will watched, Jack got to his feet, balancing with only a slight wobble on the bowsprit, and started walking along it, his hand braced on one of the jib-ropes, descending toward the foredeck, where Will waited.

"William, do you notice anything?" Jack asked as he made his descent. "Or rather, do you notice something that is not there to be noted?"

"You haven't raised an alarm," Will replied, without lowering his knife.

"Odd, isn't it?" Jack noted, then indicated the corpse-laden barrel. "Not as odd as _this_!" Will glanced down at the barrel, and his own gruesome handiwork. "Come up with this all by your lonesome, did you?"

"I said to myself, 'think like Jack'," he replied, with just a hint of an attempt at Jack's sardonic humour.

Jack's eyebrows disappeared under his bandanna. "And _this _is what you arrived at?" a graceful gesture of his hand again took in the barrel and its inert passenger. "Lead Beckett to Shipwreck Cove so as to gain his trust? Accomplish your own ends?" He scoffed good-naturedly, "It's like you don't know me at all, mate!"

Looking a mite sheepish, Will finally put away his knife.

Jack continued, "And how does your dearly beloved feel about this plan?" As Will looked away, Jack traversed the remaining length of the bowsprit. "Ah ... you've not seen fit to trust her with it." He jumped down to the foredeck, right behind Will, then moved to stand beside him.

"I'm losing her, Jack," Will said, sadly. "Every step I make for my father is a step away from Elizabeth."

Jack's tone was surprisingly gentle as he replied, "Mate, if you choose to lock your heart away, you'll lose her for certain." He gave a small shrug, then turned and walked away, saying as he did so, "If I might lend a machete to your intellectual thicket ... avoid the choice altogether." He smiled to himself. "Change the facts. Let somebody _else _dispatch Jones."

Will looked confused for a few seconds. "Who?" he finally asked.

Jack said nothing, but cast a sidelong glance toward Will, grinning. Will finally got the picture, and turned slowly toward Jack. "_You_?"

Jack turned and smiled as Will came to the correct conclusion. Then, his smile fading, he walked back toward Will. "Death has a curious way of reshuffling one's priorities," he explained, soberly, then laid out his plan. "I slip aboard the _Dutchman_, find the heart, stab the beatin' thing, your father goes free from his debt, you're free to be with your charming murderess." He leaned back against one of the ropes.

Will looked at him with scepticism. "And you're willing to cut out your heart and bind yourself to the _Dutchman_? Forever?"

"No, mate," Jack said, quietly. "I'm _free _forever. Free to sail the seas beyond the edges of the map. Free from death itself."

Will came closer to Jack. "You have to do the job, though, Jack." He seemed to take grim pleasure in pointing out the fly in Jack's ointment. "You have to ferry souls to the next world, or end up like Jones." With his hands, he pantomimed tentacles hanging down his face.

Jack grimaced, his left hand also moving to suggest tentacles where his moustache and beard were. Fingering his chin-braids, he said, with a frown, "I don't have the face for tentacles." Then he brightened. "But immortal has to count for somethin', eh?" He raised his right finger as he seemed to recall something. "Oh!" He reached down and removed his compass from his belt, then held it out in both hands, offering it to Will.

Will took it, examining it with a frown. "What's this for?"

"Think like me. It'll come to you." Then, with Will still distracted with his study of the compass, Jack leaned forward and breathed directly in Will's face.

Will recoiled, his expression reflecting disgust, as he leaned backward sharply, stumbled back, then pitched arse-over-kettle over the rail, to fall into the sea!

As Will splashed around in the water off the _Pearl_'s port side, Jack gave the barrel, with its grisly cargo, a shove, sending it over the edge and into the water, not far from Will.

Touching his brow in a parting salute, Jack called out, smiling broadly, "My regards to Davy Jones!"

As the _Pearl _moved quickly away through the dark waters, Will splashed about, then swam toward the corpse-laden barrel, throwing his right arm around it, and the body tied to it. Looking after the rapidly-retreating _Pearl_, and its captain, he said to himself, "I hate him!"

* * *

On the _Pearl_, Jack looked inordinately pleased with himself. In his little exchange with Will, he had accomplished several things that advanced his agenda—slightly altered now to accommodate new circumstances, but with the same overall goal in sight. Firstly, Jack didn't have to lift a finger now to lure Beckett to Shipwreck Cove; Will had taken care of that quite brilliantly, and unwittingly, all by himself, with his little trail of barrels and bodies, and once Beckett picked up Will, the compass would lead them the rest of the way, for Jack was going to Shipwreck Cove, and Beckett wanted Jack. Beckett would, naturally, in that little Machiavellian brain of his, assume that Jack had kept up his end of the deal, and had only used Will to do so.

Also, once Will spilled the beans to Jones that Jack had been freed from the Locker, by delivering Jack's regards as instructed, it would effectively neutralise what Beckett considered to be one of his biggest threats he had to hold over Jack's head. Beckett, naturally, assumed that Jack wanted to stay as far away from Jones and the _Dutchman _as possible, but that simply wasn't the case now. Jones learning that Jack still lived would ensure that the _Flying Dutchman _would willingly come into the trap as well; then all Jack had to do was contrive a means of getting on said ship, locating the chest containing the heart, and stabbing the bloody thing!

Of course, once Jack had stabbed the heart, secured his immortality, and took command of the _Dutchman_, Beckett would lose the most powerful weapon in his arsenal, which Jack could then turn against Beckett and his fleet. The vision of the Immortal Captain Jack Sparrow at the helm of the indestructible _Flying Dutchman_, destroying Beckett once and for all, and picking off his armada, one by one, brought a broad smile to his face. Ah, yes. Revenge was a beautiful thing!

Oh yes, things were shaping up most splendidly indeed, all the pieces falling nearly perfectly into place! All that was left to do was the convince the Pirate Lords to fight Beckett—or, at least, to make a _show _of fighting—for they were the carrot he was dangling before Beckett's nose.

And, lastly, to actually get to the heart, of course.

His only regrets were, in gaining Immortality and the eternal Captaincy of the _Flying Dutchman_, Jack would perforce have to give up two of the things that he loved most in the world, besides freedom and the sea itself. The two things nearest and dearest to his pirate heart.

The _Black Pearl_.

And, most regrettably of all ... Elizabeth Swann.

A very steep price, indeed. But nothing worth having came without a price, did it?

He only hoped Immortality was worth it ...

* * *

_**Author's Note:** **Smut warning!** The next two chapters will contain descriptions of sexual activity between consenting adults. If such things offend your sensibilities, please don't read on ..._


	7. Last Confessions

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

_**

* * *

Author's Note:** __Please be forwarned that this chapter contains a fair amount of Sparrabeth smut (and the next chapter, even more!)._

_As usual, nothing about POTC belongs to me, but rather is the property of the Great and All-Powerful Mouse and his minions._

_-- Cat_ **

* * *

**

**- Chapter 6 -  
Last Confessions**

When Elizabeth Swann—now duly elected King of the Brethren Court—had finished issuing instructions to her new subjects, the Pirate Lords, she turned and scanned the meeting room—which was actually the hull of one of the wrecked ships that made up much of the infrastructure of the town of Shipwreck—her eyes searching for Jack. But the Captain of the _Black Pearl _was nowhere to be seen, having made a discreet and wholly unnoticed exit from the proceedings during the ensuing hubbub.

Elizabeth slipped away as well—perhaps not quite as unnoticed, given her newly-exalted status and the furore it caused—and headed toward the docks. She instinctively knew where Jack would have gone ...

As she expected, Elizabeth found Jack in the Captain's cabin of the otherwise-deserted _Pearl_. Jack sat in a pose familiar to her: bare feet up on the chart table, a mostly-full bottle of rum nestled in his lap. His tricorne hat sat perched jauntily atop a massive world globe behind him, and his frock coat, belt, and baldric, along with his various articles of weaponry, had been carelessly tossed upon the bed.

It occurred to her that this was the first time she'd been alone with Jack since the night of the boats, when she had discovered her father drifting among the dead ...

_

* * *

_

True to his word, Jack had stayed the night with her, as she slept—thankfully, dreamlessly—in the comforting cradle of his arms. She had awakened the next morning before dawn had even started lightening the sky, with swollen eyes, a raw red nose, a splitting headache, and the taste of stale rum in her mouth—but, despite all those little discomforts, surprisingly well-rested overall.

_They had both shifted positions whilst asleep, and when she woke Jack was spooned tightly against her back, his right arm flung out across the bed, beneath her pillowed head; the other was curled possessively around her body, his warm hand lightly cupping her silk-clad right breast in his sleep. His nose was buried in the tangled skein of her hair, and she could feel his warm breath, like a sultry tropical breeze, drifting rhythmically against the back of her neck in time with his gentle snores._

_She reflected that, unlike the last time she had awakened to find herself and Jack in this position, they were both still fully clothed ..._

_She would have been perfectly content to lie there all morning in Jack's arms, and try to forget that the previous, horrendous day had ever happened, except for the fact that, after all the rum she had imbibed the previous night, she had a quite urgent need to use the chamber pot ..._

_She extricated herself from Jack's embrace as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him, and slipped out of bed. All but a few of the candles had sputtered out during the night, leaving the cabin cloaked mostly in darkness. An oil lamp on a stand next to Jack's bunk cast a little island of wavering light over the bed, illuminating it, but not much else._

_She stooped next to the bed and groped underneath it until she found what she was seeking, then dragged the pot out from the shadows under the bunk. Sparing a quick glance at Jack to ensure he was still asleep, she unfastened and lowered her trousers, squatted, and did the necessary business. As she was refastening herself, she heard the bed creak, and when she turned she found Jack's eyes, glittering with lamplight, wide open and staring at her. Her heart leapt, as it always seemed to do whenever Jack's eyes were turned on her. She noted that the kohl he wore was slightly smudged from sleep, making the reflected flames in his eyes seem like candles burning in the depths of a pair of dark caves …_

_"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to wake you ..."_

_He crooked her a small smile, gold teeth glinting. "You didn't." His pleasant baritone voice was husky with sleep, the rough masculine brush of it against her senses making her heart pound just a little bit faster. He nodded to the receptacle at her feet. "'M up for much the same reason as you ..."_

_He unfurled his body in a long, luxurious stretch, before sitting up and swinging his booted feet down to the floor. Raising his arms above his head and arching his back, he stretched again, with a deep groan. Elizabeth could hear the little snaps and pops resounding in the silence of the room like a volley of distant gunfire as the bones in his cramped back shifted back into alignment. And then he was levering himself to his feet, his long fingers fumbling with the buttons of his breeches._

_Elizabeth moved away, sitting at the table, upon which one short, squat candle still guttered away staunchly on its little silver plate. Leaning forward in her chair, she crossed her forearms atop the charts littering the table's surface, then pillowed her head upon her folded arms, her forehead coming to rest in the crook of one elbow as she closed her eyes. She sighed as her mind's eye conjured up an image of her father, as she had last seen him: gazing at her with sad eyes and the ghost of a melancholy smile on his lips, the light from the death-boat's little lantern casting an eerie golden glow on his well-loved—and never to be seen again—face, giving it the illusion of warmth and life._

_Her eyes burned, but there were no tears. They all seemed to have been used up last night._

_As she lay there, eyes shut against the pain in her head and in her heart, willing it to go away, she was vaguely aware of the sequence of sounds that accompanied Jack's little task; sounds of normalcy that reminded her that life, and its daily routines, did, indeed, go on:_

_Water streaming into the pot for what seemed an impossibly long time, and Jack's drawn-out sigh of relief …_

_The rustle of clothing being restored to order …_

_A small grunt from Jack, then the shifting of the chamber pot against the floor …_

_Booted feet striding across the room, receding …_

_The creak of a window opening, then closing again a few seconds later …_

_The footsteps returning …_

_The pot hitting the floor, then scraping across the planks as it was nudged back under the bed …_

_She heard the steps approach, and then a warm hand splayed itself across her back, rubbing over the bunched muscles of her shoulders through the silk of her black tunic. "How you feelin', luv?" Something in her chest ached at the warmth of his tone, the gentleness of his hushed voice, the measure of concern and sympathy contained in that simple phrase. Had it only been last evening that he had savagely pinned her against the wall of this same cabin, body and voice hard with the threat of violence?_

_"In some ways, a little better ... others, considerably worse," she replied, her voice muffled, as her head was still buried in her arms. Then, with a groan, she raised her head and pressed her palms to her forehead. "For example, I'm reminded precisely why I _shouldn't _drink large quantities of rum ..." She moaned in pain as her head continued its dull throbbing._

_She heard Jack chuckle, and felt him press a kiss to the back of her splitting skull before his hands moved to her temples, his deft fingers massaging in little circles as his calloused fingertips pressed lightly into her soft flesh. She felt the tension begin to ease under the gentle pressure, like a knot slowly unravelling, the pain beginning to fade to a more tolerable level. Elizabeth leaned back with a sigh, until her head came to a rest against Jack._

_"Better?" he asked, and she felt the word reverberate in his chest, a deep rumble like thunder against the back of her head. She opened her eyes and, craning her neck, looked up into his face, inverted above hers. His sable eyes peered down into hers from beneath their fringe of black lashes, the shadows cast by the single candle making them seem impossibly long against his bronzed cheeks. The kohl-smudged lids were still heavy with sleep, or possibly languid with the beginnings of desire. One corner of his mouth was lifted in a gentle, lopsided smile, and she was struck again by the dark masculine beauty of that face._

_"Yes-sss," she breathed, drawing out the single syllable in a sibilant hiss borne on a sigh, as her eyes slipped closed again under the soothing ministration of his nimble fingers._

_She felt him shift behind her, the rise and fall of his chest against the back of her head coming slightly more rapidly now, just before his lips touched hers, his chin-braids sweeping against the curve of her left cheek, his moustache tickling her chin. The fingers at her temples stilled, his hands moving to cradle her face between his palms as he began kissing her in earnest, his lips sliding back and forth across hers most deliciously, and the tension in her brow seemed to swiftly relocate itself to her belly ..._

_And her world, which had seemed to stop the moment her father's otherworldly boat vanished into the cold grey mists of eternity, started turning again …_

_After a few breathless moments, when the universe was comprised of nothing but her and Jack, and the taste of his mouth upon hers, he released her lips with a soft sigh, and his presence was suddenly gone. She opened her eyes, and turned her head to watch him as he walked back to the bed, and sat down. With a beckoning motion of one hand, and a come-hither look in his black eyes, he silently invited her to join him on the bed._

_Looking at him, feeling the pull of those eyes, she pondered, not for the first time: What arcane magic did he possess that caused her body to react, without him even needing to touch her? Just the sight of his dark eyes upon her, the coy sweep of his long, dark lashes, the golden glint of his crooked grin caused things to melt inside her, liquid heat trickling down through her body to pool in a puddle of gathering moisture between her thighs. How could the merest brush of his lips upon hers set fires alight in parts of her body far removed from her mouth, send shivers like the vibration of tiny bells singing throughout her nerves, cause a coil of desire to tighten like an over-wound watch spring in her belly, and ignite a warm throbbing heat down below that demanded to be quenched?_

_Why did she _need _him so desperately, like she needed air and food and water to survive?_

_After the merest hesitation, she rose from the chair, walking toward him like a somnambulist, her eyes locked with his, drawn like a besotted moth to his dark flame. He reached out his hands to her, palms up, and she slipped her fingers into them, letting him draw her down onto his lap, her trouser-clad legs settling astride his. As his arms moved to slide around her waist, pulling her closer, she sighed and let her head drop to his shoulder, taking comfort in the warm, masculine scent of him, in the feel of his muscled linen-clad shoulder beneath her cheek, strong and supportive, like it could bear the weight of the entire world._

_One hand came up to softly stroke the back of her blonde head, while the other rested at the small of her back._

_"You all right, luv?" he murmured._

_"No," she said, truthfully, her voice wavering a little, "not yet." Then, with a little more conviction as she raised her head from his shoulder and looked resolutely into his eyes, "But I _will _be."_

_He gave a small half-smile and nodded his head, a hint of pride shining in his dark eyes. He reached up to brush his thumb along her cheek. "I know you will, darlin'." _

_Then he leaned forward and kissed her … _

_His lips moved upon hers, impossibly soft and gentle, as if apologising for the bruising they had inflicted upon her the previous evening. Her hands moved to lightly grip his upper arms as she yielded to his kiss, her lips pliant under his, gratefully accepting his tender offering. _

_His hands slipped under her tunic, and she felt the warmth of his calloused palms sliding against the smooth flesh of her back, stroking, caressing, exploring. His mouth opened over hers, and his tongue drifted lightly over her bottom lip before easing into her slightly parted mouth as his hands travelled downward, slipping beneath the waistband of her trousers, lingering lovingly on the soft yielding flesh of her bottom before cupping her hips and pulling her, firmly, against him … against the growing hardness pushing at the cloth of his worn breeches._

_Elizabeth gasped into Jack's mouth, and raised her head from his, dislodging his seeking lips and probing tongue, and looked him directly in the face with wide, startled eyes that were, nevertheless, shimmering with a glaze of desire. He took advantage of the opportunity afforded by the new gap that had opened between his chest and hers, his hands leaving her hips and relocating to the frog closures at the front of her tunic._

_As his fingers moved upon the fastenings, working them free, he pressed his lips to the side of her neck, brushing them gently back and forth across her silken skin, sending delicious shivers of pleasure and a flush of heat through her body. _

_"What happened to your lofty scruples of last night, regarding taking advantage of a drunken, grieving girl?" she asked, a bit breathlessly, even as she arched her neck to grant him better access._

_The first little frog fastening came free of its loop, and his lips drifted down to press a kiss to the flawless skin newly exposed below her collar, while his thumbs stroked the delicate twin arches of her clavicles. "Are ye drunk now?" he murmured against the little hollow at the base of her throat._

_She closed her eyes at the sensation of his mouth moving across her warm flesh, the bristly brush of his moustache and close-cropped beard against her skin adding a maddeningly erotic counterpoint to the motion of his soft lips, and shook her head slightly. "No …" _At least, not on rum_, she thought as she felt him work the next frog free, and his lips dropped a few inches lower, to her upper chest …_

_"Are ye still prostrate with grief?" he whispered a hair's-breadth above the pale rise of her left bosom, his warm breath upon her skin firing her senses even further. Another fastening slipped free, and he moved to nuzzle the valley between her breasts._

_"Well … no, not at present," she admitted, with a twinge of guilt about that fact, then gave a little cry of pleasure as his tongue joined his lips in moving across her flushed skin._

_Another button free, and then his hands were slipping inside to part the material, and his seeking lips found and brushed her right nipple. Without conscious thought, she ground her hips against him, and Jack emitted a low moan against her breast. _

_He raised his head and stared directly into her deep amber eyes. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked, his voice hoarse with passion, his dark eyes daring her to say _Yes_, to deny that she wanted him as much as he did her. His hand was moving now inside her tunic, cupping a breast, running his thumb over its hardening tip._

_"No …" she sighed, and then repeated again, on a moan, "Oh … no! Don't stop …!"_

_And then her arms wound around his neck and her lips met his, eagerly, hungrily, while his clever hands continued to play over her body, his sure fingers touching all the right places, with just the right amount of pressure, working her up to a frenzy of desire._

_Jack was just sliding his hand into the front of her trousers, seeking out that part of her that absolutely ached and wept for his intimate touch, when a knock came on the cabin door …_

_They froze as they were, Jack's hand down Elizabeth's trousers, her tunic open all the way down to her navel._

_"Bugger!" Jack hissed between ivory and gold teeth. "I just remembered … the door is unlocked!" As the rap was repeated, he pushed Elizabeth off his lap, then hurriedly helped her refasten her tunic as her frantic fingers fumbled on her fastenings._

_They had just—barely—gotten Elizabeth decent—though little could be done about the telltale bulge in Jack's breeches—when the knock was repeated a third time, more forcefully, and the door opened._

_Hector Barbossa stood there, an annoyed scowl on his face. "Jack, be ye deaf …?" he started. But as he looked from Jack—sitting on the bed, legs crossed, trying much too hard to look innocent, and not succeeding—to Elizabeth, who stood not five feet from Jack, breast heaving, face flushed, lips slightly swollen—his grey eyes narrowed and a little leer curled his lips. "Well, Jack, if you be finished … _consolin' _the young lady, it be _yer_ turn to man the wheel, and _my_ turn to use the cabin to get a little shut-eye." His gaze strayed back to Elizabeth, and a hint of mischief glinted in his eye as his lips spread in a rather salacious grin. "Of course, if the lady prefers to assist me with me nappin', or requires a mite more consolin' from someone who knows how, she be more 'n welcome to stay …"_

_As Elizabeth moved to sweep past Barbossa, he grabbed her upper arm. "By the by, _Miss _Swann, yer fiancé's been worryin' about ye. Ye might want to check in with him, jus' to let him know you be all right." He eyed her face, and her misbuttoned tunic, pointedly. "But ye may want to put yerself in order first, lest he get the wrong impression about what's been goin' on in here." Then he leered at her again, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Or the _right _one ..."_

_Barbossa's crude laughter followed Elizabeth as she swept, red-faced, from the cabin, followed shortly thereafter by Jack, who was doing the best he could to preserve his modesty with the assistance of his strategically-placed hat …_

* * *

Jack looked up as she entered, his eye wandering over her Asian costume, from the odd broad-brimmed, knob-topped hat perched upon her blonde head to the soft curly-toed boots on her feet, taking care not to miss every inch of the woman in-between. As he smiled with cheeky impertinence, the candlelight set shadows capering amongst the planes and angles of his handsome face and a ribald light dancing in his roving black eyes. "Evenin', Your Highness. To what do I owe the pleasure of your illustrious company on me humble ship tonight?"

Rather than answering directly, Elizabeth asked, "The _Pearl _is so quiet tonight ... where is everybody?"

Jack flashed a golden half-smile that was more like a smirk. "They're off doin' what men are inclined to do the night before a big battle, when there's a likelihood they won't live through the next day ..."

Elizabeth nodded. "Drinking and whoring, then," she said, using language she wouldn't have dared to a few short years ago, when she was nothing but the prim and proper daughter of the Governor of Jamaica.

Jack's smile broadened. "Aye, that's the truth of it! Probably won't see hide nor hair of 'em 'til daybreak ..."

Her eyes took in Jack, and the rum bottle parked in his lap. "And why aren't you off with them, partaking of the various pleasures of Shipwreck Cove?"

Jack's smile turned a bit wistful. "Havin' faced death not once, but twice already ... for some reason, I find meself more in the mood for a bit of introspective contemplation tonight. Besides ..." his voice lowered to a deep, sexy rumble, "I was hopin' _you_ would come, and thought I'd save you the time and trouble of havin' to search through every drinkin' establishment and bawdy house in the Cove—of which there are a considerable number, nigh to rival Tortuga." He waved her to a chair and, once she was seated, played the good host and offered her his bottle of rum.

She looked at the bottle, then up at his face, before shrugging and accepting the proffered drink. Raising the bottle to her lips, she took a generous swig, causing Jack's cocked left eyebrow to disappear beneath the bottom edge of his faded red bandanna.

Elizabeth looked at him, consideringly, then decided not to beat about the bush. "Why did you do it? Why did you vote _me_ King of the Brethren Court?"

"Short answer?" Jack queried, and Elizabeth nodded. "Plain and simple … you're the only one who agreed with me that we should stand and fight. And since votin' for meself would have only ensured the traditional deadlock—beside the fact that I've no aspirations whatsoever to be the leader of that conglomeration of petty, bickerin', backstabbin' thieves—there really was no other reasonable choice."

"But ... _me_? I would think that, after what I did to you, I'd be the _last_ person you'd want in a position of authority over you ..."

"Honestly, luv, who else would I have voted for? Barbossa, with his daft idea of releasin' Calypso?" He snorted in derision. "I think it's the height of foolish folly to put ourselves at the mercy of some goddess who may or may not, as the mood takes her, feel obliged to assist us in our endeavours. Gods and goddesses are notorious for bein' quite capricious in the dispensin' of their favours … and their retribution. Given that t'was the First Brethren Court who bound Calypso in her bones in the first place, she may be more bent on visitin' vengeance on its current incarnation than, as Barbossa presumes, bestowin' boons." He grimaced, comically. "And if Hector is relyin' on his nonexistent charm to sway the goddess to his purposes—well, we may as well run up the white flag and surrender to Beckett now."

Jack swung his legs down and rose to his feet, wandering around the room as he continued. He swung one arm out in a sweeping gesture, in the general direction of the Great Hall of the Brethren. "Or how 'bout the rest of 'em? You saw how inclined those old, jaded, self-servin' layabouts were to sit by and do nothin', wait out Beckett's blockade, snug as scurvy bugs. They've grown fat and lazy, and have long since lost their passion for piracy, and their willin'ness to fight to preserve that cherished way of life."

He looked at her, and his dark eyes glowed with open admiration. "But you're new to the game, Lizzie. You've got that passion, that idealism, that fire in your belly that the rest of 'em have lost over the years."

She looked at him, dubiously. "Are you sure that's _all_ it is ... no hidden plots, no ulterior motives, no grand scheme in which I'm merely acting as your pawn ..."

He spread his hands. "Now, what possible motive could I have for incitin' a conflict between us and them—other than the ones I've already laid out in front of the Court? And, by your own words, Beckett's already on his way ..."

"What motive, indeed?" she said, cynically. "There has to be one, I'm sure ... I just haven't figured it out yet." She brought the bottle to her lips again, taking another lusty swig.

He smiled inscrutably. "And, finally, there's one other, and perhaps the most important, reason I chose you ..." He looked at her, and his eyes seemed to soften just a bit. "Unlike the rest of that lot ... I have _faith_ in you, luv."

As she realised that he was serious, Elizabeth fell silent, just as he had done once when she had said those same words to him, and meant them, months ago, on the deck of this very ship.

"Yet ..." she began, uncertainty flooding her. "Is it enough? I've stirred them to action, it's true ... but to what end? Is the fight futile? Lost before it's even begun?" She raised wide, fearful eyes to Jack. "Have I doomed us all to oblivion, all for the sake of an ideal ... and a thirst for vengeance?"

"An oblivion we would already be consignin' ourselves to, by rollin' over and surrenderin' to the likes of Beckett, or standin' our ground and lettin' him wait us out, then pick us off one by one—if we haven't already done _ourselves_ in, selfish cuttlefish that we are, through our squabblin' and bickerin' and fightin' one another? And givin' in to him, without a fight, would be infinitely worse. We'd be just as dead at the end of it all."

When he shifted his eyes back to her, the fear in her eyes was tinged with a hint of desolation. "The atrocities he perpetrated in Port Royal ..." she whispered, mournfully. "Hundreds of men, women—and even children, for God's sake, so small they had to be lifted to the noose—going to the gibbet, on the flimsiest suspicion of having even the most passing acquaintance with pirates. All those lives, extinguished ... for the sake of getting them to sing that bloody song to summon the Brethren Court ...!"

A rueful smile twisted Jack's face, and a haunted look crept into his eyes. "Cutler Beckett is not renowned for his mercy and sense of fair play." His hand unconsciously rubbed his shirtsleeve, under which lay the brand. "I know that, first-hand."

Elizabeth nodded grimly. "And we can't let him win," her voice, though soft, was hard. "He has to be made to pay, for what he's done in Port Royal, for what he did to Father ..." She looked up into Jack's face, her eyes filled with vengeful fire, "... for what he's done to _all_ of us."

With an ironic flash of ivory and gold, Jack said, in a somewhat lighter tone, "My dear, after takin' on cursed undead pirates, Davy Jones' motley crew, the Kraken, _and_ the perilous waters of World's End, I should think that the Royal Navy and Beckett's East India Company would be a piece o' cake for you ..."

She smiled wanly, and then her smile died as she looked directly into Jack's eyes. "Jack ... I have to tell you, in all honesty ... I'm frightened." Her eyes were huge in her pale face, and for a moment she was once more that wide-eyed slip of a girl he had fished out of the harbour at Port Royal.

He sighed, and his face became utterly serious, entirely open and free of artifice, as it had been that day, when he had been bidding a final farewell to the _Pearl_ and let her see the desolation in his eyes. "Truth be told, luv ... so am I."

She came to his arms, and he embraced her, feeling the trembling that afflicted her body like a palsy. "Oh, Jack ... what have I done?" she whispered against his shoulder.

His arms tightened around her. "The only thing you could have done, luv. We either fight and win, or we fight and die." He smiled cheerlessly. "Either way, at least we'll be free of Beckett, so that's somethin', eh?"

Without warning, she raised her face to Jack's, and kissed him, fiercely.

As their lips parted, Jack tilted his chin up and looked down his nose at her with a puzzled frown and wary expression on his face. "What was that for?" he asked, remembering with some discomfort what had happened the _last_ time she had kissed him like that ...

"Jack ... if we are to die tomorrow, isn't it about time we cast aside all pretences? After all, this may be our last opportunity to make a clean breast of things ..."

"A clean breast, eh?" He cocked an eyebrow, his wicked eyes flicking down to her bosom a moment, then back up to meet hers. "About what?"

She sighed deeply, and dropped her gaze from his, suddenly uneasy. "Well ... for one, about what happened between us, the last time you were in Port Royal."

Jack's face lit with understanding. "Ah!" he said, then smirked lasciviously as he recalled the details of that night ...

"I have to confess, Jack ... despite what I told you, I _do_ remember practically everything that passed between us, though I tried my best to banish it from my mind—for Will's sake, and for mine."

Jack nodded. "I know, darlin' ..."

She looked up at him, startled. "You _knew_? How ...?"

"I saw it all in your eyes, luv, that last day, on the _Black Pearl_—before you kissed me and closed the shackle around me wrist." He smiled down at her. "You _do_ have the most beautifully expressive eyes, Lizzie. In truth, you'd make a terrible card-player!" His smile turned teasing. "And there _is_ that little thing about you talkin' in your sleep ..."

She coloured. "I most assuredly do _not_ talk in my sleep! You're making that up!" She recalled him taunting her about that, his parting shot after dinner the night before they had reached Isla Cruces. At first she had been mortified. But then, when she had time to consider the source of the information, she had discounted it as yet another of Jack's fabrications, designed, as he was wont to do, to put her off her guard.

He grinned slyly, then leaned down, his cheek brushing hers as he brought his lips to her ear and whispered, affecting a high-pitched, feminine voice, "Oh, Jack ... Take me, Jack! ... I want _you_, Jack!"

She drew back from him in horror, her hands going to cover her face, which had turned a very bright shade of red. "Oh my God!"

He smiled crookedly at her, apparently pleased at her state of embarrassment. "You know, luv ... I very nearly gave you yer wish that night, and you still blissfully lost in sleep." His eyes filled with deviltry. "It was only with the most herculean exercisin' of willpower on me part that I was able to walk away and leave you ... unmolested." He purred the last word suggestively, then his smile took on a decidedly lewd cast, his dark lashes sweeping down as his eyelids went half-mast. "And, given the rather inflamed state of certain delicate parts of me anatomy at the time … _ahem_ … well, let's just say it made any kind of walkin' quite difficult, indeed!"

While she stood there in quite a pretty fluster, he went on, "And, speakin' of _hard_ things … I have a bit of an awkward confession to make as well, luv. The note I left you, after our night together ... it was all a lie." His eyes moved over her slowly, from head to toe and back again, and his eyes smouldered with the recollections of that night. "I remember every second of our time together in that cottage, from the moment I woke up in the bath, with you runnin' your hands all over me body, to me wakin' up naked in bed, and you gone. And every delicious moment in-between ..."

Elizabeth nodded, still blushing. "I suspected as much, during our voyage to Isla Cruces," she said. "You certainly dropped enough hints. But why all the subterfuge? All the dancing around, pretending not to remember? What was the purpose?"

Jack gave a wry smile, his gaze finally leaving her body to return to her eyes. "I anticipated that you might regret the things you'd—_we'd_ done together, once you'd sobered up, and thought to give you an opportunity to save face ..."

"Yes ... you _did _ply me with alcohol, as I recall ..." she frowned.

"That's not the way of it, luv, and you know it ... I offered rum, you accepted, plain and simple. No plyin' involved at all. It's not as though I held me pistol to your head and _forced_ you to drink. Free will, and all that ..."

Elizabeth grimaced. "Yes, well ... the end result was the same. I made a bloody fool of myself ..."

Jack begged to differ, his voice low and filled with quiet passion. "There was nothin' foolish whatsoever in what we did, Lizzie. It was only us, acceptin' our feelin's for one another, and actin' on them. Honesty, in its purest …" He lifted his hand, the back of his fingers stroking the side of her face, then trailing down her neck lightly, "… and most _pleasurable_, form ..."

"Pure? Honest?" Elizabeth scoffed, becoming agitated, jerking away from his touch. "How can you say that? There was nothing of pureness in what we did, and certainly no honesty in the way I had to keep it from Will ..."

"Not tellin' Will was your _own_ choice, luv. Nobody told you to lie to him." His face softened a bit, as he tilted his head to one side. "The wonderful thing about freedom, y'see, is you get to make your own choices. But the downside is havin' to _live_ with the consequences of those choices."

She couldn't argue with him on that point, because she had to admit that he was right. "Consequences," she said slowly, and felt the prickle of tears in her eyes. "I kept the truth from Will—about us, about what I did to you on the _Pearl_—for fear that I would lose him. And what happened?" She smiled sadly. "I ended up losing him anyway."

"You don't know that for certain, luv," Jack said, quietly.

"Yes, I do. The trust between us has been shattered, irreparably I fear, and that is my fault. And now he's changed, too." Her mouth twisted in irony. "You know, not too long ago, I wished Will to have some of your qualities ... among them your cleverness and unpredictability. Well, I got my wish, in spades, and I must say, I'm none the happier for it. Those traits do not sit well on him. I hate what he's become, that he's able to betray us, keep his secrets, plot and plan and scheme to his own ends." _Like you_, she thought, but did not say aloud.

Jack frowned. "Yes, well … he _does_ seem to have gone a bit free-lance lately, hasn't he? I never would have thought he'd have that in him … Mister 'Rules-of-Engagement' fair-play and all that, goin' all devious on us!" He regarded her, "But, to be fair to William, luv ... _you've_ changed as well."

"Perhaps that's part of the problem—it's as though we're moving in two different directions, our paths taking us farther and farther away from one another." She shook her head. "He's not the man I fell in love with, not anymore." She looked down, her face infinitely sad. "I've managed to kill that man, just as I killed you ..."

The prickle in her eyes blossomed into full-grown tears, and one now slipped down her cheek. She impatiently swiped it away, but not quickly enough for Jack not to see ...

He tilted her face up to his, and the tenderness of his expression almost undid her. "Don't cry, my love," he said, "What's done is done." He crooked a smile, filled with warmth and forgiveness. "Yes, you killed me … but to your credit, you _did_ come fetch me back. And for that, I reckon I should be grateful." He bent down and pressed his lips to her forehead, then kissed her softly on the mouth.

She responded by twining her arms around his neck, returning his kiss, but upping the ante by imbuing it with a little more intensity, a little more fire. She felt his arms slip around her—one across her shoulders, the other around her waist—pulling her closer against his body.

When they broke the kiss, Jack stared down at her with smouldering eyes. "Kiss me like that again, Miss Swann ... I mean, My Liege ... and I'm afraid I'll have to ravish you, here and now, and damn the consequences."

She drew a deep breath, gathering her courage around her, and looked up at him, boldly. "Well, then ... do it," she challenged, with just the smallest quaver in her voice.

He froze, his kohl-lined eyes widening, not sure if he heard her correctly. "Is that an order, Your Highness?" he said in a slightly mocking tone, but nevertheless his eyes flashed with hopeful lust.

"Take it as you will ... or, rather, take _me_ as you will." Elizabeth gave him a slow, lopsided smile that was uncannily like one of his own. "It was never my intention, after all, to die a virgin." She started undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, and he noticed that her hands trembled, just a little.

Jack smiled back, rakishly, "And t'was never mine to let you _remain_ one ..." He plucked the silly Asian cap from her head and tossed it away, then reached around to pull the carved pins from her hair, releasing it from the elaborate bun at the nape of her neck, combing through the silken strands, letting the spun-gold profusion of if sift through his fingers. "Indeed, I've done everything I can to ensure you _don't_ ..." He leaned in, inhaling the scent of her hair, redolent with the lingering traces of oriental spices and exotic perfume …

She ran her hands up his linen-clad chest, pushing the waistcoat from his shoulders and down his arms, until it fell to the floor. "I noticed ..."

"And resisted ..." he said, his hands sliding around the wide leather belt cinching her waist, finding and loosing the lacings at its back, even as her own worked to relieve him of the sash tied around his own waist. Removing the ornate leather collar-piece from around her neck, he ran his fingers lightly down her graceful throat, then his hands moved to the fastenings of her long, heavily-embroidered oriental tunic.

"But not anymore," she said, grabbing handfuls of his shirt, and pulling it up and out of his breeches ...

He smiled, slowly, seductively. "No ... not anymore," he agreed, his nimble fingers making short work of the frog closures of her tunic, which soon joined his waistcoat and sash on the floor. Before long, his linen shirt followed as well.

They stood there, both naked from the waist up, their eyes drinking in one another thirstily, Jack's bold with open appreciation, hers shy with a pinkening of her cheeks ...

Her eyes followed the tracery of tattoos and scars adorning his sun-bronzed arms and chest. He noted that, although her face and upper chest were tanned and freckled from her months spent shipboard under the hot Caribbean sun, the rest of her was still English-rose pale, her breasts creamy white tipped with pearly pink nipples, like rosebuds pushing up through mounds of snow.

And then, in a rush of motion, and a flurry of groans and sighs, they were suddenly wrapped in each other's arms, lips joined in a frenzy of kissing, hands moving over each other, stroking, caressing, cherishing ...

Jack's calloused fingers wandered lightly over her, running down the smooth length of her back, up the satin-skinned splendour of her front—her breasts filling his palms like perfect ripe fruit plucked from a tree, deliciously firm—before sliding downward, to her waist, to find the drawstring of her trousers. Grasping one end of the bow between his fingers, he pulled, and they loosened, the raw silk slithering down her slim hips, to puddle at her feet like melted candle wax. She stepped out of her soft Asian boots, and he pulled her now totally nude form against him, his hands beginning their explorations anew.

Elizabeth's hands were busy as well, their delicate paleness gliding over his rich bronze skin like the wings of doves skimming over dark desert sands, drifting up the well-muscled expanse of his chest, then across his broad back, then down to its narrowest point, her slender fingers working their way under the waistband of his breeches, following the material around to the front, where the fastenings were ...

Her fingers deftly slipped the buttons free, a manoeuvre first perfected during her time disguised as a boy on the _Edinburgh Trader_, when she had worn men's breeches. As one side, and then the other of the flap dropped open, and the breeches slid down to Jack's ankles, she reached down, seeking that most sensitive part of a man, her hand closing gently round the familiar satin-sheathed hardness of him ...

At her intimate touch, Jack gasped into her mouth, his hips jerking forward automatically, and then he was devouring her mouth with a wildness that left her breathless, his moustache scrubbing her upper lip, hands moving over her breasts, his open palms circling, grazing their tips, teasing them to erectness, repaying pleasure with pleasure until it was Elizabeth's turn to be left gasping at Jack's touch ...

His mouth opened wide over hers, and as their tongues met, glided, twirled together in a sinuous dance of seduction, a new, almost painfully intense heat flared between them. His hands moved from her breasts to her slender waist, and she became aware of a motion, and realised that Jack was slowly backing toward the bed, drawing her with him. She released her hold on him, wrapping both her arms around his neck as she moved with him, their bodies swaying together even as their tongues continued their sensual _pas de deux_. As he reached the bed, he broke their kiss and sat down on the mattress, his glittering black eyes locked on hers, ready to pull her down after him ...

... then yelped and jumped up again, his kohl-ringed eyes fairly popping in his face at having sat on the cold, hard steel of his unsheathed sword ...

With a frustrated growl, he turned and dragged the coverlet, and everything atop it, off the bed, onto the floor. "Just me bloody luck!" Jack quipped sardonically, "You finally say 'yes' and I practically emasculate meself on me own sword before I can do the deed!" At the wide-eyed look of barely-stifled laughter on Elizabeth's face, he flashed a somewhat sheepish grin. "And after all the times I called you-know-who a eunuch—I come _this_ close to makin' one of meself! Talk about gettin' hoist by your own petard!"

Despite her efforts, Elizabeth couldn't suppress a giggle.

Looking affronted, he said, "It's no laughin' matter, luv! A man takes his … er, personal weaponry … _very_ seriously!"

But Elizabeth continued to giggle, rather manically, then tears started running unchecked down her face, and then she crumpled to the floor, semi-hysterical sobs wracking her as she drew herself into a tight ball, knees gathered to her naked chest, and cried her heart out.

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_**A/N: Warning!** More smut to follow in the next chapter!_


	8. A Precious Gift

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

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_**Author's Note:** Here's the latest chapter_—_a bit long, and you have to suffer through a bit of Jack and Lizzie angst before we get on to Sparrabeth luvvin', but please be patient! I promise, it will be worth the wait (at least, I hope you think so)!_

_Fair warning that this chapter includes a significant amount of adult content (i.e., smut!), so if you're sensitive about such things, you might want to avoid this chapter (as well as the next one, which will contain more of the same)._

_My thanks to everyone who took the time to leave the very positive and supportive reviews (particularly those who took care to leave detailed comments about exactly what they liked or disliked)! Every bit of feedback is valuable to me, and helps me hone my skills as a writer. It's knowing that my little amateur scribblings are reaching (and entertaining!) some of you out there that keeps me writing more! :-)_

_Again, Disney owns POTC, I don't, blah, blah, blah ..._

_Please read, and review (if you're so moved). And enjoy (I hope!)._

_-- Cat_

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**- Chapter 7 -  
A Precious Gift**

Jack's eyes went wide in panic, watching Elizabeth go to pieces before his eyes. He scrambled off the bed and went down on his knees next to her. "What is it, luv? What's wrong?" She looked so forlorn there, so broken, so vulnerable in her nakedness. He reached and snatched up his discarded frock coat from the floor, draping it around her shaking shoulders as he pulled her into his arms. "Hush, luv. If you don't want to do this right now, we don't have to …"

"It's not that … it's … it's ..." she choked out between sobs.

"It's _what_, luv?"

"Oh … nothing—and _everything_!" She burst into fresh tears.

_Well, that clears things up nicely!_ Jack thought sardonically as she buried her face in his chest.

As she apparently wasn't ready to be coherent yet, he just sat there and held her, feeling his naked chest grow wet with her tears.

At last, the weeping tapered off, then stopped altogether, but she made no effort to pull away from the comfort of his arms. "You all right now, luv?" he ventured, tentatively. It seemed he was asking her that question a _lot_ lately …

He felt her nod against his chest. "Oh, Jack … I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry 'bout it, darlin'. It's not the first time I've gotten soaked because of you. Seems to be me lot in life…"

He saw her cheek curve as she gave a weak smile. Then she emitted a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a sniffle. "Some bold, brave Pirate King I'm turning out to be …" she lamented. "It seems that every time we're together lately, I end up crying on your shoulder, like some weak and silly woman. I'm sure you regret voting for me now!"

He threaded his fingers into her soft, fragrant hair, massaging her scalp soothingly, and rested his chin on top of her head. "Not at all, luv. You're not the least bit silly … well, at least now that we've gotten rid of that bloody _hat_ … and I've never, _ever_ known you to be weak. In a fair fight between you and Beckett, I'd still put me money on you!"

At that, she gave a small, strangled laugh, and he allowed her to pull away when she leaned out of his arms. She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand, slanting a self-conscious look up at him, seemingly embarrassed by her emotional outburst. "Thank you for that, Jack … Glad to know I still have your vote of confidence." She bent and dabbed at the last of her tears with the sleeve of Jack's coat.

He smiled fondly at her bowed head, then all traces of levity vanished from his expression as he leaned forward to grasp her chin between a beringed thumb and forefinger, turning her face up to his. "But, darlin', it _is_ best you get all _this_—the grief, the tears, the doubts—out of your system tonight," he said, without a hint of humour or mockery, his eyes and voice deadly serious. "It's all well and good that you feel comfortable enough with me to let _me _see this side of you.

"But _tomorrow_, luv, you _can't_ let any of that show. You need to be strong, decisive, _ruthless_ …" He let a little hint of irony soften the line of his lips, "… as I know—from me own personal experience—you _can _be. A King worthy of respect, ready to lead her troops to victory. Anything less—any whiff of weakness, of fear, of uncertainty, and they'll be on you like sharks after blood—both your enemies _and _your allies, for you well know how fickle and self-servin' pirates can be. That lot would turn against you in a trice to save their own skins ..."

As he released his hold on her chin, she nodded, and dropped her eyes. After a moment of silence, she said softly, in a voice nearly drained of all emotion, "Did you know that James is dead?"

The news was unexpected, but it _did _explain her current state of mind. "You mean … Commodore Norrington?"

"Admiral now … or at least, he _was_ … thanks to his accord with Beckett." She drew a breath, then released it in a sigh. "After I left the _Pearl_ and went with Sao Feng, the _Empress _came under fire and was taken by the _Dutchman_. Sao Feng was killed in the attack, but not before naming me his successor as Captain and Pirate Lord." She absently fingered the pendant hanging from her naked throat.

Jack nodded. "Aye, you said as much to the Brethren Court, when you arrived …" Upon Jack's return from the _Endeavour_, Gibbs had told him how Elizabeth had agreed to go with Sao Feng, bartering herself to help secure freedom for the _Pearl_ and her crew, and to undo the tangled mess that William had gotten them into through his ill-advised, ill-fated deal with the Pirate Lord of Singapore. But Jack knew Sao Feng well enough to know to what use he usually put young, attractive women …

"About Sao Feng, luv … he didn't … _harm_ you in any way, did he?" he asked, his voice soft, but with a brittle edge, his eyes going still and dark as polished onyx as he studied her.

Elizabeth pulled Jack's coat more closely around her nakedness. "No … but he tried, and likely would have … _had_ me …if he hadn't been killed in the middle of his 'wooing' …" The corner of her lips twitched in something that wasn't quite a smile. "All he got for his efforts was a bloody lip when he kissed me, and I bit him ..."

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. But, inside, his anger flared at Will, and how his incredible stupidity had almost resulted in Elizabeth losing her virginity to a rapist, not a lover.

The irony was also not lost on Jack that, while he had been on the _Endeavour_, negotiating to keep her safely out of Beckett's hands, Elizabeth, on the _Pearl_, had been forging a deal with Sao Feng that would put her in similar, if not _worse_, danger ...

She continued, picking up the thread of her interrupted tale of James' demise, "During the attack, I and my crew were captured by Beckett's men, and taken before their commanding officer … _Admiral _Norrington. We ended up in the _Dutchman'_s brig ... but not before I had given James a piping hot piece of my mind about the side with which he chose to ally himself, and by association, his shared culpability for Father's death. Apparently, my words had some effect on him, because he came and let us out in the middle of the night ... helped us to escape the _Dutchman_, and freed the _Empress _so we could get away."

Her lower lip trembled a bit as she finished, "But James paid a dear price for betraying Beckett's orders. Just as we were scaling the tow-rope between her and the _Empress_, one of Jones' crew noticed and raised the alarm. James stayed behind to guard our escape, but was felled with a sword blow to the heart." She looked back up at Jack, her moist eyes desolate. "The most terrible thing is ... it wasn't some nameless, faceless crew member who delivered the killing blow. It was Bootstrap—Will's father …"

Jack frowned. He wasn't sorry that Norrington was dead ... not in the least. The man had been a bloody thorn in his side for much too long. But he _was _sorry that Elizabeth had had to suffer the loss of yet another person close to her, so soon after her father ...

"My sympathies, luv ... I know you were once betrothed to the man, albeit briefly, so you must have had _some _sort of feelin's for him, but I can't share your grief about his fate. As you know, there was no love lost between me and 'dear James'," he said. "He _did _try to have me hanged, after all ... not to mention makin' me life difficult for the better part of a year by pursuin' me and the _Pearl _all around the world ..."

Elizabeth stared at him with a somewhat puzzled frown, before her eyes widened slightly with realisation. "Then you don't know ... nobody's told you?"

"Told me wot?"

"It was James who was responsible for Beckett getting the heart. Remember, on Isla Cruces, when he offered to stay behind, and draw Jones' men off to facilitate our escape back to the _Pearl_? We later learned that he had in fact taken the heart ... _and _the Letters of Marque. He eventually made his way back to Port Royal, and used them to bargain with Beckett. In return for the heart, Beckett rewarded him handsomely. He didn't just make him a privateer for England, as per the terms of the Letters—he used his Lordly influence among the upper levels of the peerage to arrange a full restoration of James' commission in the Royal Navy ... along with a promotion to Admiral."

As Jack realised the implication of what Elizabeth had revealed to him, and weighed Norrington's act of thievery in light of what happened after and since—it occurred to him that the whole sequence of events that had unfolded on that pivotal day would have been vastly different, were it not for Norrington:

Jack would have been in possession of the heart ...

... thus having control over Jones, nullifying his debt …

... rendering the Kraken attack unnecessary …

... giving Elizabeth no reason to shackle him to the _Pearl_ …

... meaning he would _not_ have ended up in Davy Jones' Locker.

No, he wasn't the _least_ bit sorry about James, who, as far as Jack was concerned, had enough black deeds on his account to earn his death many times over.

And Elizabeth ... the effect that day had had on _her_ as well ... and every day since ...

Looking at Elizabeth closely—_really_ closely—for the first time since the day he had been rescued from the Locker, he recognised the deep change that had been wrought in her over the nearly two years he'd known her, and especially in the past year or so that Jack had been absent from the living world.

Gone was the petulant, arrogant, spirited brat who had plagued him, challenged him, sorely tested his patience during the adventure of the cursed Aztec gold. The girl who had skipped and sang around a bonfire on a deserted beach with a notorious pirate, burnt a King's ransom worth of rum on a hope and a whim, and bravely crossed swords with the undead in a cave brimming with pillaged gold and jewels, all with a glint in her eye and an air of merry delight, like it was all a marvellous game, and she was having the time of her life.

Gone as well was the plucky, confident, flirtatious young woman who had disguised herself as a boy to escape Port Royal, sailed with him on the _Pearl_ from Tortuga to Isla Cruces, engaged him in a well-matched duel where the weapons they crossed were not swords but clever wit, suggestive words and seductive glances, and who, in the two days they were together, had successfully completed her capture of his heart and at last given the compass of his desire a firm and incontrovertible heading ...

But now, there were new shadows haunting the sepia-toned seas of her eyes, a darkness lingering in their golden-brown depths, lines of weariness and strain tracing the map of her beautiful face. He supposed they had been there before, in the Locker, but he had been too wrapped up in acrimony toward her to notice.

Now, when he looked into her eyes, there was a pain hovering just below their surface, a pain he had seen often, in the careworn faces of bedraggled tavern wenches, jaded half-crown doxies, and men destined for the gallows. The look of those who had become well-acquainted with life's hardships, who had looked death in the face and (barely) survived, or who had nothing left to lose because they had already lost everything that had held any meaning for them. To see that look now, in his Lizzie's eyes, troubled and saddened him beyond measure.

She had told him before that she had suffered, and he had scoffed at her. But now, the evidence was, literally, staring him in the face, and the revelation shocked him. _Sweet Jesus, what is she … not yet twenty-two? And, already, that look …_

He realised that there had been nothing in her sheltered background to prepare her for the kind of life she had had to lead this past year—not like Jack, who had been on his own and making his way in the world since he was only a stripling lad, learning first-hand about the cruelties and inequities of life, living hand to mouth, deftly skirting the fringes of the law and of society, doing what he had to do in order to survive. She hadn't had that advantage ... if one could call it that.

But she had managed, somehow, through sheer stubbornness and force of will, to rise to every challenge, face every adversity, displaying strength and courage, wit and cleverness and, yes—as he had learned—even a ruthless cunning one would not expect to find in a child born to privilege and comfort. And he loved her all the more for it, for having remade herself, on her own terms, into someone who could move and survive in a pirate's world.

But he still wished he could take those shadows from her eyes ...

Jack was broken out of his reflection as Elizabeth slipped her arms around his waist, and said, woefully, "So many people I've cared about, lost, in so short a time ... my father, dead ... James, dead ... Will's affections, lost to me ..." She closed her eyes, her warm cheek pressed against his damp chest. "And now, this battle tomorrow ... who knows what the outcome will be? How many more will pay the ultimate price, be consigned to a watery grave, because of me ... because of the decisions I made today?"

He felt her arms tighten, almost to the point of pain, around him, and her voice lowered to a whisper, so low that he strained to hear her over the creaking of the ship. "Oh, Jack, I couldn't bear it if I were to lose yet someone else I cared about ... if, having fought so hard to find you, to save you from the Locker, I ended up losing you ... again ... and forever …"

Jack's heart seemed to stop in his chest at her words. She was finally admitting that she cared for him. Perhaps even _loved _him? Something that, a year ago, he would have practically _killed _to be able to hear from her lips ...

But now, with the wheels of his fate already set in motion, was it too little, too late? Could he stop the chain of events from playing out now, even if he wanted to?

At present, he had only confided in Will his plan to stab the heart, and take Davy Jones' place as captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, securing his immortality, and freeing himself forever from the ever-present spectre of death. Now, for the first time since hitting upon the idea of cheating death—not by running from it but by willingly embracing it—he started having second thoughts. Becoming the _Dutchman_'s captain would mean losing any chance he would have to be with Elizabeth ... save for, possibly, one day, every ten years ... and that would just never be enough for him, were she to actually become his ...

Could he pay that price, in order to elude death and Jones' wrath? Could he give up Lizzie, and all he could have with her, for an eternity sailing the seas as the immortal Captain Jack Sparrow?

He thought back on his lifelong flirtation with death—all the times he'd faced it, been at its door, narrowly escaped it, been brought back from the very brink of it, with the surety that, sooner or later, his luck would eventually run out ... and death would no longer be something he flirted with, cheated, or sidestepped at the last moment ...

And he thought of those who had tried to make his death a reality … petty ambitious men like Cutler Beckett, Hector Barbossa, and the late, unlamented James Norrington. And, yes, even poor, dear, guilt-ridden Elizabeth Swann. He no longer wanted to be at the mercy of the likes of them. No longer wanted to spend his life looking over his shoulder, wondering when his number would, at last, be up, and death would come to claim him.

He also recalled, with sadness, the Kraken, one of the last true legends of the sea, now lying lifeless on a black sandy beach, its hulk slowly going to dust, so very mortal after all, despite its massive size and boundless strength—a victim (he was sure) of Beckett's overwhelming need for control … for, as Jack well knew, the things Beckett could not control, he destroyed—a grim reminder that _anything_ mortal could, and eventually did, die. In that respect, Barbossa had been right when he had expounded on the certainty of _passing on_ …

And Jack also knew there were things worse than mere death, worse than oblivion ... like the desolate Hell of Davy Jones' Locker, each day indistinguishable from the next, a tedious, mind-numbing procession of unrelenting sameness, for the rest of eternity ... until one's mind, one's identity, one's very _self_, vanished into madness and non-being, every bit as much as those hapless conscripted crew members who served on the _Flying Dutchman_, fated to be absorbed by and become part of the ship …

No … he would not, _could _not face that again ... not if he had anything to say, and do, about it!

And, if it meant that this was to be his last night with his Lizzie ... the _only _night he would have her, completely, body and heart and soul ... then he'd best make the most of it, while he still could ...

Come tomorrow, he could either be born into new life as the Immortal captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ ... or well and truly—and most permanently—dead.

And so could _she _...

Jack pulled back a little, enough so he could raise Elizabeth's face to his. His eyes swept over her familiar features: the smooth perfection of her lightly tanned skin, the strong yet still feminine line of her stubborn jaw, the full blushing apples of her cheeks, the uptilt of her pert patrician nose, the rose-coloured satin of her delectable lips, the delicate arching wings of her perfectly-shaped brows, the deep amber of her lovely eyes.

And those were just the parts _above _the neck ...

Oh, God ... how could he give all that up?

Here she was ... this beautiful child, this spirited woman, finally his for the taking—at least for tonight, if not for forever. She had offered him a priceless treasure, a precious gift—willingly, knowingly ... and he, like any pirate worth his salt, was all too willing to accept it, to take it for his own ... plunder it ... plunder _her _...

_"Take what you can ..._

_"Give nothing back ..."_

A prize beyond value, a pearl beyond price ... a rare jewel that, once given, is then lost forever, and can never be restored.

His. Incredibly. Not Turner's. Not Norrington's.

_His._

_"Not all treasure is silver and gold, mate ..."_

His words to Will, in the caves of Isla de Muerta. Had he even, back then, recognised how dear she was?

Not only to Will.

To _himself._

His hand moved to smooth the hair away from her troubled brow. "Neither of us can know what tomorrow will bring, Lizzie. We pray, we hope, we plan ... but we never really _know_." He let his fingers trace around the delicate shell of her ear, trailing lightly down her throat. "But let's take comfort, luv, in the fact that tomorrow's still hours away." He sidled closer, his body now practically against hers again, his eyes softening even as they grew hotter with desire. "Let's not think about anythin' right now except how best to please one another."

He let his lips whisper across her brow like the touch of a phantom breeze, and she lifted her face and closed her eyes as he'd seen her do on the deck of the _Pearl _while enjoying the feel of the ocean-scented wind in her face. "Tonight, we're not a pirate king and a pirate lord, preparing for war—we're just plain ol' Jack and Lizzie." His right hand slipped under the coat and alit on her bare stomach, his fingers tenderly stroking skin smooth and soft as oriental silk, and her eyes slowly drifted open, still tinged with sadness but with a hunger now burning in their golden depths. A hunger that he recognised, that called to him, because the same hunger was rising within him as well.

He drew his head back and looked down at her, eyelids slipping to half-mast, giving her that patented slow, sexy Jack Sparrow smile that had seduced countless women over the years, from scullery maids to duchesses. A look that told a woman she was beautiful, admired, desired. "And, _whatever _happens tomorrow, darlin' ... we at least have _tonight_." His left hand moved to cup her face, his palm resting against her jaw, his fingers lightly tracing the arch of her cheekbone. "And _tonight_—if that is still what you want, luv—I'm goin' to show you what it is to _make love _..."

And, as she stared up at him with those tear-stained eyes, now bright with the beginnings of passion, he lowered his mouth to hers, taking her lips in a kiss of exquisite gentleness, his hands sliding around her waist under the coat, pulling her closer.

As Elizabeth raised her arms to wrap them around Jack's neck, the frock coat slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor, and she found herself on her knees, pressed to the front of Jack's naked body, his arms tight around her, almost crushingly, with nothing whatsoever between his warm skin and hers.

Rising to his feet, pulling her up with him, he swept her up in his arms, and carried her to the bed, laying her down upon the mattress, so that her head came to rest on the tufted brocade pillows. He stood over her a moment, his dark eyes intense as they moved over her nude form.

He noticed how her body had changed since the last time he had had occasion to see her naked ... leaner now, more angular, almost whippet-thin, ribs showing a little more starkly in the shifting golden light of the cabin, soft womanly curves transformed to well-toned muscle, no doubt a by-product of her continued training in swordfighting and other defensive arts. Different, but still beautiful.

With the sinuous, effortless grace of a great jungle cat, he joined her on the bed, crawling over her, so that his body was atop, but not yet touching, hers.

Lowering his face, his dreadlocks falling around her face like a braided, beaded curtain, he claimed her lips again, his kiss feather-light and teasing at first, nibbling playfully at her full lower lip, already slightly swollen from the passion of their earlier kisses. Her eyes drifted shut as she let him feed succulently on her mouth, opening it readily to accommodate his tongue as it flicked lightly against her lips, seeking permission to enter.

He explored her tender mouth unhurriedly, his tongue sliding slowly, tantalisingly against hers, before drawing hers carefully into his mouth, suckling it gently. As her arms came up and around his back, tightening to draw him closer, he gradually lowered his body onto hers, so his warmth blanketed her bit by bit as his skin came into contact with hers, from groin, to belly, to chest, until he was pressed completely against her, his hardness trapped between his belly and hers, though careful to keep the brunt of his weight from crushing her beneath him.

He made no move yet to penetrate her, instead beginning a thorough, leisurely exploration of her body, his hands, mouth and tongue drifting down her torso ... reacquainting himself with familiar territory, and discovering new frontiers as well ... savouring her with a delicious deliberation, like a condemned man enjoying his final meal, lingering over each delectable mouthful of her, knowing this could very well be the first, and last, time he would be with her, completely, as a lover.

His skin slid against hers, erotically, as he dragged his body downward, until his face was even with the lush bounty of her breasts, the ripe berries of her erect nipples drawing him irresistibly, making his mouth fairly water at the delightful prospect of tasting those luscious buds. He tongued one, swirling lazy circles around it, teasingly, making her writhe beneath him with frustrated desire, until his lips at last closed around it, drawing it into his mouth with a gentle suction.

Elizabeth gasped as her super-sensitive flesh was bathed in the warm wetness of his mouth, both soothing and stimulating, all at once, his oral ministrations causing a ripple of voluptuous pleasure to undulate through her body as he moved from one breast to the other. He shifted, and now his knees were straddling her left leg, and she felt his hard heat pressing against her upper thigh. Then he was drawing himself up her body again, his lips trailing along her collarbone, the side of her neck, the little hollow at the base of her throat, the tip of her chin, before seeking hers again, finding them already parted and waiting for him ...

He felt her shiver as his tongue once again met hers, with a little more urgency than before, heard her gasp as his hand found her breast, tracing its curve with his palm, sweeping his thumb rhythmically across the hardened peak of her nipple.

"Elizabeth," he murmured against her lips, for once using her formal name, his nose gently nudging hers, first on one side, then the other, his lips barely grazing hers as they slid over hers. "Are you _certain _this is what you want ... that you won't change your mind partway through, because, I'm warnin' you, once we start, I'm not goin' to be able to stop ..."

In response, she twined her arms around his neck, pulling him back down that paper-thin distance to her, her mouth meeting his eagerly, her tongue invading _his _mouth this time as her hands travelled down his back, until they came to rest on his taut, well-toned buttocks, stroking, caressing. She raised her leg slightly, to where his hardness still rested against her thigh, moving it back and forth against him, massaging him. He groaned against her mouth, and his hips moved in a circular motion, of their own volition, rubbing himself against her creamy thigh.

She pulled her mouth away to whisper huskily against his, "What do _you _think?" Her eyes blazed with passion.

"Lizzie," he breathed hoarsely against the moist satin of her lips, "I _think _you're gonna have to stop doin' that, or I'm goin' to finish way before you do ... and, believe me, we don't want that ..."

At his words, she reluctantly lowered her leg back down to the mattress, and he exhaled, as though in relief.

"All right, then," he said. "So far, we haven't done anythin' that we haven't done before. But as we move on to—if you'll pardon the all-too-pertinent expression—virgin territory, you'll have to tell me what you like ... let me know if I do anything you find uncomfortable, or objectionable ... teach me how to please you ..."

She smiled archly, and said, with a little breathless laugh, "I hardly think I need to teach _you _how to please a woman, Jack. It's akin to asking the lamb to teach the wolf how to like red meat."

He smiled a rather wolfish smile at the analogy, raising himself off her, rolling his weight to one side so he was positioned next to her rather than atop her. "Oh, but you're hardly a lamb, luv," he said. His admiring gaze moved, slowly, down her body, and his hand soon followed the same path, tracing the indent of her waist, the curve of her hip, the leanly-muscled perfection of her thigh. "More like a lioness ... sleek, and beautiful ... and so very deadly ..." He raised his right hand to his left wrist, letting his fingers encircle it like a manacle, and slanted a look at her, a hint of danger flashing in the depths of his eyes. "I know that, from experience ..."

Leaning over her, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her hip, then dragged his mouth across her abdomen, letting his lips trail in the direction of her navel, before tilting his head to look up at her, pinning her with those dark, dark eyes.

"But each woman is different, darlin' ... and what pleases one does not necessarily please another." His eyes turned wicked. "For example, there was one woman I recall who loved for me to touch her ... just there ..." He wet his finger, then stroked it down her flat stomach, circling her navel with a feather-light touch, then dipping his fingertip into the dimpled recess, in and out, teasingly. Elizabeth sucked in her breath as his mouth alit on her belly, his tongue repeating the same motion as his fingers. "And another who liked me to kiss her ... right here," his lips traced the delicate arch of her right collarbone, the tip of his tongue flicking lightly against her pale flesh most provocatively as his lips nibbled along the bony ridge. Elizabeth closed her eyes, and shivered. "And even a few especially decadent ladies who preferred me to take them ... not here ...," his hand moved between her legs, grazing past her moist maiden passage, "... but … _here_," his fingers dipped lower to brush lightly against the puckered opening of her anus, and she gasped.

"Jack!" she breathed in mild panic, tensing under his touch. "You wouldn't ...!"

He withdrew his hands, and held them up, as though in surrender, a teasing look in his eyes and a sinful grin upon his lips. "I'm just _sayin'_, luv ... only if you _wanted _me to." Then he bent to kiss her ear, flicking his tongue against her earlobe. "Only if you thought it would _please _you ..." He brought his lips to that tender spot just below her ear, where jaw met neck, and she moaned in pleasure, relaxing beneath him.

"Jack ...." she murmured, shakily, "You need not remind me of your vast experience, and how many women you've been with ... and, so far, my _only _experience has been ... _you_."

Jack raised his head to peer into her face, his kohled eyes narrowing sceptically. "What about you and William?"

Elizabeth emitted a little burst of mirthless laughter. "Never more than kisses. And not even that in nearly a year ... not since Isla Cruces. He's barely been able to look at me, let alone touch me, since the Kraken took you and the _Pearl _..."

Jack looked at her, incredulously. "You poor girl!" he said, in a tone of exaggerated sympathy. "No wonder you're so ... _hungry _... for attention. William's a bloody fool, lettin' a beautiful, passionate woman like you go to waste." He crooked a salacious grin as he ran a finger along her lower lip, then bent down to nibble it. "And they call piracy a crime ..."

As his lips drifted across her cheek, Elizabeth sighed and turned her head, which put her own lips just a whisper away from his. "Besides, Jack ... if you remember everything about our night together, as you claim, then you already know _some _of the things that bring me pleasure ..."

Jack lifted his chin and peered down his nose at her, his eyes alive with both amusement and arousal as they stared into hers. "Aye, that I do. Unfortunately, we haven't any of those syrupy confections we both ... _enjoyed_ ... so much!" His fingers moved to circle the tip of one breast, as he bent and kissed the other, his tongue curling around her nipple. "Or a convenient bathtub, big enough for two ..." He pressed his mouth to hers, his hand now straying to that tufted triangle at the joining of her thighs, stroking, probing, his fingers sliding inside her even as his tongue did the same to her mouth, capturing and swallowing the low moan of desire that rose from her throat. "But, most of all, you seemed to take the _greatest _pleasure in me kissing you ..." his moist fingers slid up to gently rub that most sensitive part of her, the central node of a woman's pleasure, "... _right here_." Her hips rose off the bed, and she gasped sharply at his touch.

He smiled at her reaction. "Ah! I see _you _remember, as well ..."

And he started kissing his way down her body, pausing occasionally to lavish attention on a particularly sensitive spot, moving ever lower, until he finally arrived at his intended destination. This time, when he placed his hands on her thighs, he didn't need to coax her ... her legs parted willingly, eagerly, for him, knowing what was to come, and wanting it ...

* * *

Elizabeth watched him with fever-bright eyes as his head dipped between her legs. She felt his fingers, parting her, the brush of his dreadlocks against the inside of her thighs, his warm breath gusting over that most secret part of her, as she trembled in anticipation. And then the moist heat of his mouth, closing over her tender exposed flesh, and the slickness of his tongue as he delved deeply into the core of her ... savouring her, devouring her, drinking deeply of that feminine font from which all new life springs ...

As Jack's mouth fed on her, Elizabeth felt her energy draining away, her limbs quivering, body growing weak and languorous, as though Jack was consuming her very lifeforce, like a vampire. She lay back and closed her eyes, and revelled in the feel of his mouth upon her. As his tongue dragged up along her sex to prod against her inflamed bud, sending a little thrill of excitement rippling through her, she sucked her breath in deeply, letting it out in a long, drawn-out sigh. Then he slid his fingers into her, gently stroking her inside even as his tongue continued to stroke her outside.

Suddenly the air in the cabin felt unbearably hot, her skin damp with sweat and flushed as with fever. Her hips shifted restlessly below Jack's mouth, and she reached down to lace trembling fingers into his hair, guiding him, steering him on a course designed to bring her the maximum amount of pleasure. _"There ... yes, there!" _she gasped, as she lifted her hips, pressing herself against his mouth more firmly, as his tongue and fingers continued to work their unique brand of magic upon her.

_This _is what she had been missing, what she had been _craving_, for more than a year, ever since that night in Port Royal, when Jack had first introduced her to the delights of the flesh, and awakened the passionate woman hidden deep within the wilful child. Something she couldn't get from Will's eager yet cautious kisses and maddeningly gentle touches and almost chaste, worshipful love, this slowly-building fire in her belly, this loss of control as she gave herself over to powerful, overwhelming, all-consuming sensation ... The strangely liberating feeling of surrendering herself to the touch of another's hands, mouth, and body upon hers ...

The sensation grew as Jack's tongue moved more frantically over her, his fingers plunging ever faster into her, driving her positively mad as she rose and fell, rose and fell against his mouth, her hands tightening in his thick braids until he grunted in pain against her. And then it was upon her, that sudden exquisite burst like a flower blossoming inside her, full and lush and so very sweet. Her back arched off the bed as she cried out, shuddering through her release.

* * *

As Elizabeth cried out and spent against his invading fingers, then collapsed to the bed, Jack knew she was nearly ready. And, telling from his own almost painful state of arousal, he was more than ready himself! He wanted to do this while she was wet, and very relaxed, so that the pain as he took her would be minimised. He was aware of the precious gift she was offering him tonight, and he didn't want to squander it. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her ...

He rose to his knees between her parted legs, then leaned forward to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to her pale belly, his hands gently caressing her hips. He gazed up at her face, and saw her eyes were still closed, her face at ease as she drifted tranquilly in the lingering afterglow of her culmination.

Slipping his hands behind her knees, he raised them, her heels dragging along the mattress until they were poised under her thighs, practically against her sweet arse, then he splayed her knees to either side, putting her in the best position for what he was about to do.

As he manipulated her limbs, Elizabeth slit her eyes open to cast upon him a lazy gaze tinged with mild curiosity, and the open affection and trust in them made his heart swell. His eyes met hers steadily, was returned by her in kind, and he knew there was no need for words—no platitudes such as "Are you ready?" or "Are you sure you want this?" or warnings such as "This is going to hurt a bit," that would serve no purpose other than to cause her to tense, to make her breaching more difficult and painful for her. He could see in her calm and gentle eyes that she knew what he intended to do, was prepared for it, and accepted it.

Kneeling between her splayed knees, he positioned himself at her entrance. Locking eyes with hers, he slowly eased into her, but only until he met the resistance of her maiden barrier. Even at this limited penetration, with him barely in her, she gasped, her eyes going wider as her inner walls stretched to accommodate the girth of him.

Then he started touching her. Whisper-light caresses upon her breasts, fingers trailing down her sides, drifting across the flat of her belly, then down to that place where they were now joined. As he leaned down to capture her lips with his, carefully holding his hips steady, his fingers started moving against her secret bud, lightly teasing, gently prodding. He felt her breath catch, then start to quicken.

Her mouth opened to him, and he pushed his tongue into the warm, welcoming cavern of her mouth, just as he drew his hips back, then eased into her again, but once more only until he felt himself nudge her maidenhead. His tongue flicked against hers even as his deft fingers flicked against her nub, and her mouth started moving eagerly under his, suckling on his tongue like a babe at its mother's teat.

Her hips rose slightly off the bed, and he felt her gasp at the twinge of pain, but his hips retreated again, maintaining the degree of penetration. It was still too soon. She was not yet prepared for him …

_Patience, luv … Patience …_

As his mouth continued to feed on hers, his free hand rose to cup her left breast, gently kneading it, rolling its hardened tip lightly between his thumb and forefinger, even as his other hand continued its motions down below. She moaned softly against his mouth, her eyes drifting shut as sensations began to overwhelm her.

His mouth broke from hers, and he whispered against her lips, gently coaxing, "Look at me, luv. Open your eyes, and look at me …" He wanted to see her eyes, watch as her desire overtook her, see the precise moment when she would be most ready for him, when he would cause her the least amount of pain.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and then he was looking deeply into those honeyed brown orbs, reading in them her passion, her need for him, her desire for what he could offer her. His hips continued their slow, shallow thrusts against her, and she kept trying to rise to meet him, to complete her own ravishment, but like an expert duellist, he fell back just enough to prevent her doing so. It took all the willpower he had not to fall on her, to break through that tender tissue, and give her what she—and he—both wanted. But he forced himself to be patient, to wait until she crossed that threshold into the realm of delight, when she was so lost in bliss that the pain would hardly be noticed …

He watched as her eyes lost their focus, and her breathing became laboured and shallow. Her mouth gapped open as her release began to take her, and he felt the little bud start to twitch beneath his expert fingers, and a flood of warm, slick moisture bathed the tip of him as she cried out her fulfilment …

_Now …_

He drew himself back one final time, and, in one steady, smooth motion, thrust into her, feeling her maidenhead give way, burying himself to the hilt within her. Once inside, he held himself immobile, feeling her inner walls start to spasm around him, but resisted his own completion, reined in his own desire, intent for now on Elizabeth, and bringing her joy …

* * *

Elizabeth felt the wave of intense pleasure break over her, robbing her of breath, suffusing her body with shudders of ecstasy. Amid the tremors of delight, the epicentre of which lay where Jack's hand still moved swiftly against her, she felt a sudden pressure, a _push_, and then something gave way somewhere inside her with a mild twinge of pain …

But then the brief discomfort was swallowed in the overwhelming tide of her rapture, the pain becoming one with the pleasure, lost amid the barrage of sensations wracking her body. She let that tide carry her, to that distant paradise where nothing and no one existed except her and Jack …

When she came back to earth, and her eyes slowly refocused, Jack was lying atop her, hips pressed tightly to hers, staring intently into her face, his eyes huge and dark and, oh God, so heart-wrenchingly _lovely _in the candlelight. A frisson of desire trembled through her, a little thrill that always seemed to come over her whenever he looked at her _that_ way …

Like on the docks at Port Royal ...

Like on the rum-runner's island ...

Like that one night, in a groundskeeper's cottage on her father's estate, when absolute magic took place ...

Jack leaned forward and gently kissed her, his fingers threading into her tawny hair, cupping her face. He breathed against her lips, "It's done, my love …"

Still besotted with the after-effects of her culmination, she looked up at him groggily, and breathed back, "What's done …?'' Then he shifted his hips slightly, and she could feel him, moving within her, buried deep inside her, filling her completely. Her eyes widened. "Oh …!" she drew out the syllable like a sigh, long and deep and tremulous …

His eyes flashed with concern. "Did I hurt you?"

She raised her own hips, experimentally, and, as he slid just that much deeper into her, she felt a spasm of … _something _that made her catch her breath, but it wasn't pain.

Oh, no … definitely _not_ pain!

"Perhaps just a little, at first. But not now."

He smiled slowly, suggestively. "Good." He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, just below the ear, trailing his lips down along her jawline.

She frowned slightly, vaguely disappointed. "Is that it, then? Is it all over?"

He raised his head from her jaw, eyebrows lifting in surprise, and stared deeply into her eyes as his own darkened again, sensually. "Oh, no, luv," he purred, his voice rich black velvet caressing her senses. "We're only just _beginning _…"

Then he began moving within her, pulling nearly all the way out, before slowly, _slowly_ pushing into her again. And again. And again …

There was a soreness at first, a lingering trace of her torn maidenhead, and the alien sensation of her body stretching, adjusting to him, but as he continued to move, his strokes gradually escalating in speed and depth, she started rising to meet him, like a ship carried on a wave.

The world faded around her, and then he was rising and falling against her, she the coastline, he the rushing surf, the swelling tide, lapping at her shore … surging onto her pale sands, then returning to the sea, ebbing … only to rush in again, claiming her beach as his own … As the storm approached, the rising swells pounded her shoreline in a measured cadence, primal and raw and elemental, while in her ears the wind was sighing, then moaning, then shrieking to the skies a wild cry that sounded like a name …

And then, sweet shattering devastation as her defences crumbled, and her cliffs tumbled into the ocean … her eroding sands pulled into the greedy arms of the sea as the tide receded ... leaving her shore oddly bereft, barren, raw and aching ...

Then, a warm, wet wave crashed upon her … and the storm calmed, save for the soft susurration of the dying winds …

* * *

There was no more beautiful sight to Jack than Elizabeth in the throes of passion, and the heady feeling at the thought that _he_ had put her there. The delicate blush of her skin like pale pink rose petals, the glistening dew of sweat making her shine and shimmer with the lustre of precious pearls, the soft breathy noises she made at each little movement of his body within her like a distant tune carried on the wind, the fine trembling in her limbs like the vibration of a well-plucked fiddle string, the slack pink "o" of her mouth an open invitation for the touch of lips, teeth, tongue ...

He availed himself of that invitation now, his mouth descending to hers, kissing her, loving her, feeding off her desire, only to give it right back to her tenfold …

As he left her mouth to drop his head into the curve of her neck, his forehead pressed to the soft pillow of her shoulder as he continued to thrust into her, faster now, his fingers moving to where their bodies were joined, coaxing her to completion, he felt her breath, panting warm and urgent against his ear.

_"Jack! Oh, Jack …!"_

He loved hearing the sound of his name on her lips, thick with passion, like the sweetest music pouring into his ear—first softly sighing like a fervent prayer, then gasping with pleading urgency, then finally screaming it to the heavens as her fingers clutched at his back, and she shuddered violently beneath him …

He watched, his brow dewed with perspiration from his exertions, as her flushed face was transported in rapture, the mere look of it as she rode out her climax nearly sending him right over the edge as well … that and the throbbing of her tight but no-longer-virgin passage around him, making him almost forget himself and spill inside her.

He felt himself falling into that sweet dark abyss with her, and at the last moment pulled out of her, letting his warm seed arc in rhythmic pulses onto her pale belly as he finished not far behind her …

When it was all over, he collapsed face-down next to her, whispering words of love as he tenderly gathered her against his side, her hip nudging his as their ragged breathing gradually slowed to near normal …

* * *

_**A/N:** Thanks for bearing with me! Fair warning that smut continues in the next chapter ..._


	9. Afterglow

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

_**

* * *

Author's Note:** __One more M-rated chapter before we resume our regularly-scheduled plotline. Once again, if descriptions of sexual activity between consenting adults bothers you, please steer clear of this chapter._

_Many thanks to those who have been continuing to follow this story, and particularly those who have been so generous as to post a review. I can't tell you how much I value your comments and feedback!_

_Again, POTC is wholly owned by Disney. This little tale is meant in no way to infringe on any rights held by said entity._

_Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy the latest instalment ..._

_-- Cat_**

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**

**- Chapter 8 -  
Afterglow**

Elizabeth lay there, eyes closed, basking in the afterglow of what she and Jack had just shared, floating on a cloud of post-coital euphoria. Jack's body was warm against her side, his arm draped around her just below her breasts, his hand curled around the satin-sheathed framework of her ribs, holding her tight against him, the rhythm of his escalated—now gradually slowing—breathing in near perfect harmony with her own. He was whispering something against the damp tangle of her hair, words that her whirling head refused as yet to decipher, but the tone of which was soft and loving and brought a sweet ache to her heart ...

She felt him stir and shift beside her, and when she finally opened her eyes, his swarthy face hovered above hers, limned by candleglow, burnished with a fine patina of sweat, exquisitely radiant and beautiful, almost ethereal in the golden light, like the face of some dark, fallen angel. The arm around her was suddenly gone, and then his fingertips were touching the side of her face, gently, brushing away tears that she hadn't even realised were there ...

She saw his lips move, and her brain was at last able to make order of his words again as he said in a voice so rich and deep and incredibly soft, "How do you feel, luv?" His eyes searched hers, his expression more tender than she had ever seen it, his eyes shining with an emotion she had never seen there before, and couldn't quite put a name to ...

She allowed herself to get lost for a moment in his eyes, drifting lazily on the sable waters of those languid pools, before responding. "Remember when you cut the strings of my corset that day in Port Royal, and brought me back to life?" she whispered, dreamily, and saw him nod, the ornaments threaded in his hair jangling slightly at the motion of his head, a slightly confused look flitting through his glittering midnight-sky eyes. She felt her own lips spread in a slow, almost intoxicated grin. "I feel somewhat like that. Restored to life. Resurrected. Reborn ..."

The sparkling ivory-and-gold smile that lit his visage was the loveliest thing she had ever seen, and she couldn't resist raising her hands to that face, running her fingers lightly over his features like a blind person trying to commit the topography of it to memory. Her fingertips tenderly brushed across the soft, near-feminine perfection of his lush lips, over the moustache that adorned his upper lip so strikingly, along the high arch of his regal cheekbones, down the bristly ridge of the close-cropped beard that framed his handsome face so perfectly, until her thumbs toyed idly with his beaded chin-braids.

And then she cupped his jaw, and pulled his face down to hers, her lips meeting his in a prolonged caress comprised of a series of light little kisses, tender nibbles of her pearly teeth, and tiny flicks of the velvety tip of her tongue, until, with a low groan, Jack took charge, commandeering her lips, kissing her with a uniquely masculine authority and deeply plunging tongue ...

While Jack's mouth was busily engaged in taking her breath away, his right hand started roving, traversing the soft curve of her shoulder, the swell of first one breast, then the other, moving down toward the flat terrain of her stomach ...

Elizabeth suddenly felt Jack's hand flinch away, and he sucked in his breath as his mouth left hers. She slitted open her eyes to see Jack's wide-eyed look of surprise dissolve into a little, somewhat disgusted grimace.

Planting a swift kiss on the tip of her nose, Jack muttered, "Stay right there, luv. Don't move a muscle ..." She nodded, and her eyes drifted shut again, her tongue moving over her own lips to savour the lingering taste of Jack on them ...

Elizabeth was vaguely aware of Jack leaving her side, getting out of the bed. Then, not much later, she flinched as she felt something cold and wet land against her stomach, and her eyes snapped open with a gasp. It was Jack, dragging a damp cloth across her belly, wiping away the residual effects of his own culmination.

"Sorry, luv," he said, giving her a lopsided, rather sheepish grin. "Didn't think you'd want to lie there all night, with that kind of mess on ye." He leaned over to the bedside table, and rinsed the cloth out in the washbasin he had placed there, and this time when he turned back to her she was prepared for the touch of it on her belly.

When he had finished cleaning her up, he rinsed the cloth out again, then slapped the inside of her knee gently with one brown hand. "Open up," he said, softly. She looked at him in confusion for a moment, and then he sighed and pulled at the knee. "C'mon, luv, spread 'em," he said, and she finally got the picture. She parted her legs, and he leaned over her, sweeping the cloth between her thighs, pushing it betwixt her tender folds. She was reminded briefly of his tongue there, doing much the same thing, but it had been wonderfully, deliciously warm and wet, not cold and clammy.

She looked down, and was somewhat shocked to see the cloth in his hand come away with a tinge of pink on it. As it wasn't yet time for her monthly courses, she knew it wasn't that, but something else—

_Yes, of course _... she realised with a blush, embarrassed that she had forgotten. Her maidenhead!

"Not an entirely bloodless victory, I'm afraid," Jack said, his voice mildly sardonic, as he finished with her and began wiping himself off ... at least, that part of him that had been inside her. Then he tossed the cloth back into the washbasin, and rejoined her on the bed, curling his arm around her as she tucked her head between his jaw and shoulder. As she and Jack lay side-by-side in his bunk, she turned to him, a puzzled look on her face.

"Jack, may I ask you something?"

He smiled in amusement. "I think you just did, luv."

She rolled her eyes slightly, and swatted him gently on the shoulder with her open hand, while his grin widened. "Seriously, Jack ... why did you, well ..." she blushed prettily, just about all over, he noticed, glancing down, as her hand alit on her still slightly-damp abdomen, "... pull out, before you ...?"

He eyed her, his face losing a bit of its joviality. "That's generally what a man does, luv, if he doesn't want to leave his girl ... you know ... in the _family _way." He looked at her askance. "Surely, you know this, Lizzie ... you can't be _that _green, luv!"

"Of _course _I know ..." she said, not quite convincingly.

As she refused to meet his eyes, he went on, gently, "Lizzie, didn't your—" He almost said _mother _but then remembered what Will had told him, about her mother dying when Elizabeth was still a young girl, ''—father tell you all about the ways of men and women, and how babies are made? He _must _have done, before your and William's wedding day ..."

"Oh, no!" She blushed an even deeper shade of red, and gave a little nervous laugh. "Father would _never _have been able to speak about such things with me. But, when I was seventeen, my maid Estrella came to me, rather upset. She confided in me that her courses were late, and she feared she was ... with child," Elizabeth stumbled a bit over the words, unaccustomed to discussing such matters with a man, let alone this _particular _man.

"At the time, I questioned her, just a little bit, about the kind of activities in which she had been engaged that might have led to that sort of thing happening. She was disconcertingly frank, and rather shockingly forthcoming, in her response." Elizabeth crooked a little, secretive grin. "And there's quite a lot a curious and inquisitive girl can learn from observing and listening to the servants, when they're not aware that you're doing so, or think you're too young to understand ..."

"What happened, luv ... I mean, with Estrella?" Jack asked, with genuine curiosity.

"Oh ... she ended up getting her courses a few days later, so all turned out well. But ... it's just ... well," she looked down with a rather rueful look on her blushing face, "I confess that I hadn't even _thought _of that—of the possible consequences, when you ... when I ... when _we _..." She pulled away from him then and sat up, hugging her knees to her naked chest.

"Well, it's good that _one _of us did, luv." He raised his hand, as though to stroke the back of her head, then drew back at the last moment as he said, quietly, in a deceptively light tone, "What would William think, after all, if you came back to him with my bun in your oven ...?"

She frowned, her face shuttering suddenly, her lower lip trembling almost imperceptibly. "What makes you think I'd go back to Will, even if he would have me?—which I think, at this point, is highly unlikely."

He looked at her, his face and tone soft, fervent. "Because he'd be a bloody fool if he let you get away." Then he added, gently chiding, "Besides, are you tellin' me that, if he came to you tomorrow—providin' we survive our little war with Beckett—and forgave you everythin' and said he wanted you back ... that he still wanted to _marry _you ... that you _wouldn't_?" As she opened her mouth to speak, he added, "Now, be honest, luv. I can take it."

"I ... I really don't know." Her mouth twisted in irony. "As some wise fool once told me, someone never knows what they'll do in a desperate situation, until they're faced with it."

He crooked a smile, his hand trailing down her naked back. "You know, luv ... Will's already been thinkin', for a while, that we're lovers ..."

She turned to him, startled, her eyes wide. "What?!"

He chuckled, deep in his throat. "You mean, you haven't noticed? It's all there, luv, in the way he's been lookin' at you an' me since my rescue from the Locker, like a cuckolded husband." He smiled wickedly, "And, believe me, darlin', with the number of married ladies I've been with over the years, I _know _that look ..."

"He did tell me, in a roundabout way, the day we started our journey back—that he thought I loved you. Apparently, these past months, he's misinterpreted my guilt and regret as me grieving a lost love ..." Her brow furrowed as a thought occurred to her, "Either that, or he saw me kiss you that day, on the _Pearl_, before ..." She looked down. "Well, before the Kraken took you."

Jack regarded her, his dark eyes both keen and gentle at the same time. "And do you? Love me, that is?" he asked, softly, casually, as if the answer didn't matter to him, one way or the other.

She turned to face him. "I ... I don't know. I didn't exactly deny it to Will, when I had the chance. And perhaps that's telling, in and of itself." She sighed, and hugged her knees even tighter. "All I know is that what I feel for you is profound, and complicated, and confusing, and terrible, and _wonderful_, but it's not the same as what I feel for Will, what I've always come to think of as _love _..."

She turned away, with a soul-deep sigh. "But I also know, when I lost you ... when I saw the _Pearl _go down, with you on it ... I felt like a part of me went down with it as well, that a little bit of me died along with you ..." The memory brought a glimmer of tears to her eyes. "Oh, Jack … is it possible for a woman to love _two _men at once, but in completely different ways?"

He reached for her, stroking her arm. "Well, luv ... you loved your father, didn't you ... but in a different way from William?"

She snorted. "Yes, but that's not the same thing ..."

"Isn't it?" Jack said, pointedly. "There are many different kinds of love, darlin' ... romantic love, parental love, familial love, the love of one friend toward another ..." His dark eyes studied her intently. "All bonds of varying degrees and intensity, same yet different.

"But as for you and me, and what happened here tonight ... you and I both know that men and women routinely engage in such activities _without _the bond of love ... out of lust, out of need, out of attraction ... I, myself, bein' one such practitioner, as I believe you well know ..." His voice softened. "And, as someone once told me, attraction does not necessarily equate love. But where you're concerned, Lizzie ... well, I think I've come to know you fairly well, and I can't believe that you'd do what you did tonight merely to scratch an itch ... that you'd bed someone you _didn't _love..." He crooked a somewhat self-deprecating grin. "... or, if not _love_, at least someone you didn't like _extremely _well ..."

At that, she smiled, affectionately. "Oh, Jack ... There are things I like about you, very much."

"Such as?" he fished. "Remember—last chance for a clean breast, luv ..."

"Well, for one, I like your looks. At the risk of turning your already rather inflated head, I have to say that you're quite one of the handsomest men I've ever seen. The first time I saw you, you fair took my breath away, even as you restored it to me by loosing my corset." She smiled almost shyly, thinking back to that day on the docks, the day he had rescued her from the harbour. Her smile widened, "And the way you bite your thumb at convention, live life on your own terms, and don't give a damn what anyone else thinks. It's something I've wished to be able to do, my entire life." She turned dancing eyes to him. "And your wit, perhaps best of all. I've never found myself so incredibly stimulated as when I'm engaged in a duel of repartee with you, the words flying fast and furious. It's a rare treat, indeed."

"_Stimulated_, eh?" Jack smiled crookedly. "Are you sayin' that you love me for me mind?"

Elizabeth lay back down, turning to stretch out beside him, curling herself against his body, and her return smile was slow, sensuous. "Oh, no ... not _only _your mind ..." Her hand trailed down his body, over his muscled chest, his flat stomach ... and lower. Jack gasped in pleasure as she took him in hand ...

"A-ah ... Remember, luv ..."

"I know ... he wants a firm hand, but I don't have to strangle him ..."

"Aye ... just so ..."

And for a quarter-hour, there were no sounds other than whispered words, the moist sound of wet mouths feeding off one another, and pleasurable sighs, both masculine and feminine ...

When she was done with him, they had to reach for the washbasin rag again ...

* * *

Jack tossed the cloth back into the washbasin, then rolled back toward Elizabeth.

"Jack!" she exclaimed, flinching as his damp belly came into contact with hers. "You're still all wet!" She shivered. "Lean down and get the coverlet, won't you? I'm getting a bit chilly ..."

"What do you need a blanket for, luv, when you've got Captain Jack Sparrow to keep you warm ..." He wrapped her in his arms, and she squeaked as his wet hands splayed against her back.

"Jack!" Elizabeth sighed in exasperation. "Well, if you won't get the bloody blanket, I'll just have to ..."

She extricated herself from his arms and sat up, then leaned forward onto all-fours and tried to crawl over him, one arm on either side of his hips as she swung one leg over his upper torso, practically straddling his face, but before she could bring the other one over as well and clamber over him, he grasped her around the waist, stopping her momentum.

"Oh, no you don't, luv," he said with a low chuckle. "You can't expect to wave a temptin' thing like that in me face and not have to pay the consequences!"

His hands closed around her hips, guiding her, until her musk-scented mound was poised over his face. Then, with a gentle but irresistible pressure, he drew her down to his waiting mouth ...

She started to protest, but as Jack's mouth started doing wonderful things to her, she found her arms no longer capable of supporting her, and her upper body collapsed upon Jack's lower, her cheek pillowed on his muscular thigh, mere inches from where that rough-silk part of him now lie flaccidly at rest against him. She closed her eyes, and surrendered to Jack's mouth with a deep sigh ...

As Jack felt her warm breath stir the crisp curly hair between his legs and drift over that now-quiescent appendage, he paused in his oral ministrations, his mind suddenly teeming with erotic images and endless possibilities. He felt excitement curling in his belly, and that part of him stirred to life ...

Elizabeth felt something brush against her chin, and when she slitted open her eyes, she saw Jack's dormant beast had moved, shifted from its original position. Captivated by this strange phenomenon, she raised her head from his thigh, and watched closely. She had touched that part of him, stroked it, had it pressed against her, seen it from a distance, even had it deep inside her, but had never had a close look at it until now ...

Even as she watched, it swelled, filled out, started to rise slightly away from his body. Her eyes widened, and she could not resist reaching out a hand to touch it ...

As her finger brushed across the tip, and glided down the length of his semi-erect flesh, she felt Jack gasp. When her hand closed around him, he moaned against her tender flesh, then redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving more swiftly against her, plunging more deeply.

She trembled, and closed her hand a little more tightly in reflex, eliciting another deep moan from Jack.

As she revelled in the feeling of Jack's own efforts, a thought occurred to her. If having Jack's mouth between _her _legs brought her such exquisite pleasure, would the same hold true for Jack if _she _were to ...

As quick as she thought it, she raised her head. Bringing her lips to Jack's tip, she kissed it, gently ...

This time she not only _felt _Jack's gasp, she _heard _it quite distinctly ... and the moan that followed definitely spoke of pleasure ...

Getting a little bolder, she made a little circle around the smooth head with the tip of her tongue, then again as Jack groaned against her a muffled cry of, "Yes ..."

She felt a little thrill, not only at having Jack between her legs, but at the sense of power she felt as Jack twitched and swelled even larger in her grasp. Deciding to go a little farther, she closed her lips around the head, then, with a gentle suction, drew the first few inches into her mouth ...

Jack hissed with pleasure ...

Encouraged, she drew her lips back up, then down again, this time taking in as much of Jack as she comfortably could.

She felt Jack's hands fall away from her hips, heard the whisper of fingernails against cloth as his hands clutched at the bed sheets. "Oh, God, Lizzie ..." he moaned. "Yes ... do that again, luv!"

She did as requested, and as she lowered her lips again down that satiny column, Jack's hips rose slightly off the bed, and she gagged slightly as he went a little further into her throat than she intended ...

"Sorry, luv ..." he gasped. "But, oh God, that feels _so _delicious ..."

That brought back to her Jack's words from that night in Port Royal ... Jack kissing her passionately ...

_"You're _so_ delicious, Lizzie ... I could just eat you up ..."_

She also recalled what followed ... the taste of sweet rum and coconut in her mouth ... Jack anointing her body with the thick sticky syrup ... the feel of his lips, tongue and mouth moving across her honeyed flesh ...

Even as she thought it, her mouth began to water. And she found her current task much easier, as she took Jack more deeply in her throat ... tongue working eagerly against him, savouring him as if he were some sweet confection ...

With a savage growl, Jack's arms went around her waist, pulling her down again to his frantic mouth, feasting upon her with an wild enthusiasm that excited her, fuelled her own efforts as her mouth worked, stroked, swallowed Jack more eagerly ....

As she felt her own climax rapidly approaching, and Jack started throbbing in her mouth, she plunged her mouth down on him as far as it would go ...

And suddenly she was drowning, not only in the deluge of sensation as her own culmination raged through her quivering body, but in the flood of hot pulsing moisture hitting the back of her throat, forcing her to either swallow or choke ...

She collapsed atop Jack even as he collapsed to the mattress beneath her, panting, "Oh, God ... Lizzie! Lizzie ..." He softened and slipped out of her slack mouth, and she felt his hands on her, turning her, dragging her up along his body until his mouth met hers, hungrily. She thrilled at the lingering taste of her on Jack's tongue, even as he tasted himself on hers ...

When they were both thoroughly breathless, Jack released her and she rolled off him, sprawling bonelessly on her back, while her face burned with the thought of what she had just done ... wanton, and shameful, and scandalous, but oh ... so ultimately satisfying ...

Afterward, Jack kissed her again, lingeringly, and got out of the bed. Elizabeth turned on her stomach and watched him as he walked away, her attention drawn to the flexing of the muscles in his well-toned behind. He lowered himself into his chair, then reached forth to snag the bottle of rum from the table.

He brought the bottle to his lips and took a generous swig, then leaned back in the chair with a sigh. He slanted her a lascivious glance, his dark eyes dancing with sparks of reflected candlelight. "Luv, if you're tryin' to kill me again, you're _definitely _goin' about it the right way." A wicked leer played over his lips, which made him look like a cat who had just gotten at the cream, an appearance greatly enhanced by the slight tilt of his narrowed, dark-ringed eyes and the almost feline arch of his high cheekbones. "Remember, darlin', I'm not a young man anymore. I'm like to expire from exhaustion if we keep up this pace!"

Elizabeth moved to get out of bed, reaching down to the floor to snag the coverlet, wrapping it around her like a cloak before moving out into the room. Jack might be brazenly un-self-conscious about parading around nude before her, but Elizabeth clung to the shreds of her ladylike modesty, tattered though they were.

She went to stand behind Jack's chair, leaning forward to wrap her arms around him, cocooning them both in the folds of the blanket. "Nonsense!" she said. "After all, you're the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow—ageless, timeless ... _immortal_." He stiffened for a moment in her arms, and she wondered briefly at this, but then he relaxed again as she pressed her lips to the back of his neck. "Besides, Jack ... can you blame me? I've been waiting, wanting this ... wanting _you _... for more than a year!" She smiled, "Even longer, if you take it back to the very first time we met ..."

He chuckled and took one of her hands, pulling at it. "C'mere, luv." He drew her around until she was standing in front of him. He tucked the rum bottle between his legs and, capturing her other hand as well, pulled her forward and raised both her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles, his dark eyes fixed on hers the entire time. "If a man's to go to his death, darlin', it may as well be with a smile, and the taste of a woman, on his lips ..."

As he released her hands, she smiled and reached between his legs ... but only to snag the bottle of rum. She raised the bottle to her mouth, closing her lips provocatively around its neck with the same gentle care she had given to a similarly-shaped part of Jack's anatomy minutes earlier, and she drank deeply as she tilted it and the amber liquid flowed into her mouth and down her throat, cleaning her palate, erasing the last lingering traces of Jack's flavour ...

She put the bottle down on the table and, straddling his thighs, she settled herself astride his lap, draping her arms loosely around his neck. The blanket slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor, exposing herself to Jack's suddenly alert gaze.

"Ooh, I like this …" he held his hands up inches from her naked torso, waggling and flexing his fingers in anticipation, his eyes wide and greedy like a kid at the confectioner's. "Everythin' I could want, here and conveniently in reach!" As though to demonstrate, his hands alit on her breasts, fondling them, cupping them, then sliding his palms under them and lifting them as he leaned forward and brought his mouth to one, then to the other. His mouth yawned wide as his lips sealed around her breast, drawing as much of her creamy flesh into his warm, moist orifice as possible, tongue working, laving, teasing …

Elizabeth locked her hands behind Jack's neck, closed her eyes, and leaned back, bowing her supple spine and thrusting her chest out as he kept lavishing sweet torture upon her breasts. She squirmed in his lap, her lovely arse moving sinuously against his thighs, and he rapidly found himself growing hard again, despite his earlier claims of exhaustion. His arms slid around her slender waist as he continued to feast, and from the sounds she was making low in her throat, he wasn't the only one enjoying himself ...

His hands travelled down now to take that sweet arse in both hands, pulling her toward him, raising her slightly, placing her above that part of him which stood ready to possess her again. Then he was slowly lowering her ...

Elizabeth gasped and her eyes went wide as she felt the tip of him lodge just inside her entrance. Holding herself up on her toes, she sought Jack's eyes and found them gazing lustily, avidly into her own, reading her reaction. Staring into those sleek sable orbs, she held her breath and, biting her lip, gradually impaled herself on him. As his length slid into her, she let her breath out slowly as her eyes first went unfocused then slipped closed entirely. As she hit bottom, her mouth went slack as she drew a deep, shuddery little intake of breath, and her forehead fell against Jack's. For a long moment, she just sat there, eyes closed, her breath puffing practically against his mouth, lost to the feeling of her body joined with Jack, of him filling her completely. Then the muscles of her thighs tensed against Jack's as she raised herself up, then lowered herself again ...

Bracing her hands on his shoulders and planting her feet flat on the floor on either side of him, she rose and fell again. Throwing her head back, she gave a little whimper, her fingers tightening on Jack's shoulders.

He grew concerned. "Does it hurt, luv?" he asked, watching the shifting expressions flit across her face. She jerked her head from side to side: _No._

Then she was rising and falling again, setting a steady pace as her legs flexed and relaxed, over, and over. Riding him. And he realised with a little thrill of satisfaction that her whimpers were not of pain, but of pleasure ...

As his own passion grew, Jack did little things to ease her way ... his hands at her waist, helping steady her as she surged and ebbed against him ... his lips caressing the angle of her jaw, the curve of her throat, the arch of her collarbone ... anything within their reach. He could taste the sweat as it broke out on her skin, feel the flush of heat under his lips like a fever rising ...

And then she broke rhythm, her thrusts becoming frantic, her breath coming in harsh gasps from her slack mouth. And now Jack was meeting her, arcing his hips up as hers came crashing down, quickly driving himself toward his own release ...

Finally, Elizabeth stilled as her limbs started to quiver, and Jack's breath caught at the look of absolute ecstasy that overtook those cherished features. God, how he loved her! Loved having her so completely his, for what little time he had left to be with her. She contracted around him in rippling waves, and he barely had time to lift her off of him before he was spending as well ...

And then he was cradling her to him as she collapsed against his chest, her breast heaving against his, pale pink satin against rich bronze silk, her blonde head dropped upon his shoulder as her soft, rum-sweetened breath gusted against his neck and enveloped his senses in a warm intoxicating cloud.

With her still wrapped around him, he rose and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently before climbing in next to her, wrapping his arms around her, rocking her against him, claiming her lips not with unbridled passion, but with a softness that said all the things he was not brave enough to put into words. Her return kiss was just as soft, and just as eloquent in the things left unsaid.

When they had done, she rose onto one elbow, looking down at Jack with a quizzical expression on her face, as if something had just occurred to her. "Jack?"

"Hmmm?" he purred deep in his throat, drowsily, still floating in post-coital bliss, and the ineffable sweetness of their shared kiss.

"That night in Port Royal, you seemed to be doing everything you could to convince me _not _to marry Will. Now, you're pushing me toward him. Why?" A small shadow of doubt flitted across her face, but she hid it behind a mask of mild sarcasm. "Was I _that _bad at … this?" she flung an arm out to take in the bed and the two of them.

Jack chuckled and pulled her closer, until she was practically on top of him. "Perish the thought, luv," he said, his fingertips alighting on her jaw, steering her face to his for a long, and exceedingly thorough, kiss. "Nothin' would make me happier than to hold you in me arms every night, wake up with you every mornin', bury meself in you, pull you around me like a blanket, lose meself in your hair and skin and flesh …"

She looked down at him, and the doubt in her eyes melted away into a shimmer of unshed tears. "Oh, Jack …" She took his face between her hands and kissed him, softly, affectionately, lovingly.

He sighed, deeply, and she rose and fell with the expansion and compression of his lungs, riding Jack's chest like the gentle swell of a wave. "Luv, who you want to be with is _your_ decision. But I feel obliged to remind you, I'm a pirate … and, therefore, not the most reliable of suitors …" Almost unconsciously, he found himself interlacing his fingers with hers. "I might not always be there for you, luv, when you need me."

There was what sounded like a trace of sadness in his tone that was quite unlike Jack, that made her study his face closely, as a little nagging feeling made her chest tighten with a sense of foreboding.

"Best think who'd be more likely to do right by you," he concluded. "Not who does _this_ better …" he waved his hand at the bed, and crooked a little, self-satisfied smirk. "Though, if _that's_ the criteria you're judgin' by, I reckon _I've _got nothin' to worry about …"

"Not that I have _any_ basis for comparison," Elizabeth said, pointedly.

"Ah, yes … William bein' such an unplucked, blushin' maiden himself …" Jack quipped. "Yet another area of expertise in which you've proven your mettle and beaten him to the finish ..."

She rolled her eyes. "Jack ..." she said, warningly.

He held up his hands. "I know, I know ... don't pick on poor William." He smiled wryly. "But, chin up, luv ... you might yet get the chance to make that comparison."

"Providing we live past tomorrow …" she reminded him.

His expression darkened to seriousness. "Aye. Providin' we live …"

Elizabeth curled against him again, and as his arms went tightly around her, it seemed they were both trying to stave off the darkness closing in on them, the shadow of impending death looming like thunderclouds on the horizon ...

She sighed. "I wish there was something I could do to tip the odds in our favour ... something that would give us a better chance tomorrow ... make the situation not quite as hopeless ..."

Jack was silent a moment. Then said, quietly, "There _is _one thing you can do for me, luv, if you can manage it ..."

"What is that?"

"I need to get onto the _Dutchman _..."

"What!?" Elizabeth lifted up her head and stared at him as if he had grown another head. "Are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?"

Jack winced internally at her choice of words. He didn't want her to know that, in a way, that was _exactly _what he had in mind ... though, in his case, the death would, hopefully, not be permanent ...

"Think about it, darlin'," he said, persuasively. "The chest—and the heart—are being kept somewhere on the _Flying Dutchman_. Beckett told me as much, when I was taken before him. Just like the devious sod—havin' the heart on the _Dutchman, _held hostage, as it were, right under Jones' nose—if he even _has _a nose, that is ... one can't really tell under all those tentacles, you know! Quite an extraordinarily effective way to keep Jones in control and on best behaviour.

"Now, if I can manage to get onto the ship, and find and take the chest, we would then have control over Jones and the _Dutchman_, thus neutralising the most effective, and the most deadly, weapon in Beckett's arsenal. Not to mention that it would considerably improve our odds of defeatin' Beckett, havin' Jones at our beck and call, since _we _would be able to use that weapon against _him_."

Elizabeth considered, trying to see the flaw in his plan that would give her an excuse to dissuade him from this course of action, but she had to admit at last that she saw the wisdom in his words. Anything that could give them an advantage over Beckett—no matter how small—was to be greatly desired. "All right ... if the opportunity presents itself, I'll see what I can do. Only ..." She turned to him, and her eyes and expression were utterly serious, and tinged with deep concern. "Don't do anything foolish, or take any unnecessary risks with your life. I want you to come back to me, safe and sound ... and alive." Her mouth twisted, ruefully, as she said, with dark humour, "I've already braved World's End once to bring you back from the Locker. Don't make me have to do it again ..."

He allowed himself a smile, his heart heavy, knowing what he actually planned on doing ... that once he was on the _Dutchman_, he intended not to leave it alive, but dead and reborn—Immortal.

But he did the pirate thing, and lied through his teeth.

"All right, luv ... I swear. As long as you make me the same promise ..." He threaded his fingers into her hair, and turned her face to his, looking deeply into her eyes. "Keep yourself safe, don't place yourself deliberately in danger. Let your crew protect you, as much as possible. You are, after all, their King now ... and, as with a chess match, if the King falls, the game is lost ..."

And Elizabeth smiled, kissed Jack gently, and also did the pirate thing ...

And then Jack covered her again with his body, and Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him, and they both did their best to forget about tomorrow, and lose themselves in _now _...

* * *


	10. Parlay

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

* * *

_**Author's Note:** This chapter is mostly a rehash of canon, with the addition of some virtual "thought balloons" enabling us to get into the characters' heads and understand their thought processes and reasons for their actions (at least, my take on them, for the purpose of this story)._

_Again, I am not Disney, I have never been Disney, will never be Disney, and consequently own no part of POTC. Please, don't sue me for my little amateur flights of POTC fancy ..._

_As ever, reviews are welcome and encouraged ..._

_Ta, and enjoy!_

_-- Cat_

* * *

**- Chapter 9 -  
Parlay**

The day of the battle dawned clear and fair, with a mild breeze playing upon the waters off Shipwreck Island, the gently-rolling blue-green waves belying the grave importance of this day, and what it could bring. A thick veil of morning fog lay over the water, which would eventually burn off with the rising of the sun.

Elizabeth and Jack had slept very little during the remainder of the night, choosing instead to lose themselves in frantic and, thanks to Jack, quite imaginative lovemaking until the predawn started to lighten the sky, knowing full well it could be the last taste of pleasure—and of each other—for both of them, if the battle did not go the way they hoped. Elizabeth knew that she would not have been able to sleep anyway, the burden of the responsibility she had taken on weighing heavily upon her. Would she lead the pirates to glorious victory, or to an ignoble death and a grim, watery grave at the hands of Beckett and his fleet?

An hour after sunrise found the Pirate Lords and their ships arrayed offshore, preparing to face their foes, all eyes trained on the horizon. The last of the morning fog, borne by the light wind, drifted past the ships, diffusing and softening the sun's rays as though they were being filtered through a curtain of filmy gauze.

As the first of the warships appeared out of the mists—Beckett's _Endeavour—_Marty cried out, "The enemy is here!" He pulled his pistol from his belt, waving it aloft. "Let's take 'er!" An anticipatory cheer went up from the crew ...

Barbossa raised his eyebrows slightly and cast a look back over his shoulder, his gaze flicking across the mass of shouting men populating the deck and hanging from the riggings, his face blandly expressionless, apparently unaffected by the crew's state of excitement. His eyes were warily cautious as they turned back to the swirling grey mists of the horizon, which seemed to have taken up residence in the cool blue-grey depths of his narrowed eyes.

And then more ships materialised, one after the other ... dozens of ships, and the crew's jubilation died as they stared almost certain annihilation in the face ...

Jack's expression fell as he realised the full extent of the forces amassed against them ... and at how woefully outnumbered they were ...

All eyes turned to the person who had argued most persuasively for them to fight ... and upon whom they now placed the blame for the near-hopelessness of their situation.

Jack Sparrow smiled uneasily at the sea of hostile faces staring at him, accusingly. "Parlay?" he said, nervously.

* * *

Less than an hour later, under a temporary truce, on a little sandbar which, for the time being, constituted neutral territory, Jack, Elizabeth, and Barbossa determinedly approached the three individuals standing, waiting for them, for the purpose of discussing the terms of the battle ... or possible surrender.

Jack was filled with trepidation as his eyes drifted across the trio who confronted them—all of whom he regarded as adversaries, of varying degrees. Will Turner, one-time friend, now mutineer and betrayer, and his perceived rival for the affections of the fair Elizabeth Swann; Lord Cutler Beckett, manipulator, torturer and abuser, looking typically smug and taken with his own omnipotence; and, most vexatious of all, Davy Jones himself, standing in a bucket of seawater, staring at Jack with a fearsome look of malice on his tentacled face that Jack had seen all too frequently in his nightmares.

If Elizabeth was surprised to see Will standing there, arrayed with their enemies, her face never showed it ...

As the delegation representing the Brethren stopped, about ten feet away from Beckett's group, Barbossa cast a malignant glare at Will Turner, and broke the pregnant silence.

"You be the cur who led these wolves to our door," he growled accusingly.

"Don't blame Turner," Beckett interjected in a smooth, unruffled voice. "He was merely the tool of your betrayal. If you wish to see its grand architect, look to your left."

Barbossa turned to his left, to face Elizabeth ... who, in turn, turned to _her _left, to face Jack ... who, himself, turned to _his _left to face ... no one.

Jack looked down at himself, seemingly taken aback to find that Beckett had been referring to _him_ ...

When he turned back to his right, Barbossa and Elizabeth were both levelling suspicious glares at him. Jack held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "My hands are clean in this ..." his gaze took in his grimy fingers, "... figuratively." He started gnawing on a hangnail ...

Will rejoined, in a low, calm voice, "My actions were my own, and to my own purpose. Jack had nothing to do with it."

"Well spoke!" Jack declared heartily with a wide grin, then leaned closer to Elizabeth. "Listen to the tool."

But Elizabeth _wasn't _listening to Jack. Her eyes were fixed on Will, and they now softened with sympathy. "Will, I've been aboard the _Dutchman_." Will's eyes sharpened as they alit on Elizabeth, and a frown creased his brow. "I understand the burden you bear, but I fear that cause is lost." She thought of Bootstrap, his watery blue eyes infinitely sad as he melded back into the _Dutchman_'s hull, becoming one with the ship ... sacrificing his own chance of salvation so that she and Will could have a life together. She recalled his last, plaintive request: _"Tell him not to come. Tell him to stay away. Tell him it's too late. I'm already part of the ship ... part of the crew ..."_

Her fiancé returned her gaze steadily, resolutely, not in the least discouraged. "No cause is lost, if there is but one fool left to fight for it," Will said softly, with deep conviction, and exchanged a significant glance with Jack, who smiled to himself. Elizabeth looked from Will to Jack, her eyes narrowing at what seemed to be a private moment between the two men. She wondered briefly if it was Jack who had imparted that little bit of wisdom on Will.

Beckett addressed Jack, "If Turner was _not _acting on your behalf, then how did he come to give me _this_?" He held up Jack's compass.

Jack's face fell, and Elizabeth's melted into lines of distrust as she turned to level a withering glance at Jack, a pale sister to the one she had turned on him on Isla Cruces, when she discovered Jack had tricked Will onto the _Flying Dutchman _and had lied to her about it. A similar, though not quite as potent, mix of anger and disappointment.

He wanted to tell her that what Will had said was the truth ... the lad had already started the process, all on his onesies, of winning Beckett's confidence and luring him to Shipwreck Cove, with his fully original and quite ingenious _modus operandi _of the barrels-and-bodies breadcrumb trail. Jack hadn't told him to do that. The _only _thing of which Jack was guilty was giving Will the compass—_and _breathing in Will's face. He couldn't help it if Will had, in essence, pitched himself into the sea rather than put up with a wee bit of pirate-breath, or that Will's motives, at the moment, had so neatly dovetailed with Jack's own objectives ...

Beckett continued, still with that infuriatingly snide undertone to his voice, "You made a deal with me, Jack, to deliver the pirates ... and here they are." He tossed the compass to Jack, who deftly caught it. "Don't be bashful," Beckett taunted, "Step up, claim your reward."

"Your debt to me is still to be satisfied," Jones snarled at Jack, tentacles swaying, sinuously sinister. "One hundred years in servitude aboard the _Dutchman _... as a start."

Something in Jones' words struck Elizabeth, and her gaze sharpened ...

_"... aboard the _Dutchman _..."_

She turned to eye Jack, speculatively ...

Jack's words of last night came back to her ... about finding a way onto the _Dutchman_, so he could locate and take control of the heart. The opportunity now had seemed to present itself ...

"That debt was paid, mate," Jack argued, "... with some help." He waved a hand and turned his head, indicating Elizabeth.

"You escaped!" Jones countered.

"Technically ..." Jack admitted.

During this exchange, Elizabeth had been silent, listening intently. A calculating look now crept across her face. Will saw it, and his eyes sharpened as well, the corner of his mouth lifting in an almost imperceptible smile, as though he knew what she was thinking before she even said it ...

Then Elizabeth said it ...

"I propose an exchange," she interjected smoothly, and all eyes turned to her, expectantly. Jack beamed an almost sunny smile at Jones, apparently all unawares of what was afoot, thinking he was in the clear. Her eyes fixed briefly on Will. "Will leaves with us ..." Her cool gaze flicked to the right to take in both Beckett and Jones, "... and you can take Jack."

Barbossa spun to direct a surprised, and none too pleased, scowl at Elizabeth. Jack's eyes widened, and he cast a mildly panicked look back to Jones.

"Done!" Will agreed, readily.

Jack's eyes shifted to Will. "_Un_done!" Jack said, with a rather convincing show of reluctance.

"Done!" Beckett agreed, with satisfaction.

Barbossa now turned on Elizabeth, anger lending heat to his eyes and voice. "Jack's one of the nine Pirate Lords. Ye have no right ..."

She pinned him with an imperious stare, while Jack looked on, his dark gaze fixed on Barbossa's face. "King!" she declared pertly, perfectly mimicking Jack's tone and delivery whenever he offered the word "Pirate!" as an explanation for some perfectly reprehensible act or unconventional form of behaviour, before turning back to Jack. She hoped he would read the message in her eyes ... understand what she was trying to do, and cooperate ...

One corner of Jack's moustache quirked up in a smirk as his eyes met Barbossa's, as if to say, _"So, there!" _Then, turning warm eyes to Elizabeth, the smirk fled his face as he nodded his acquiescence with a small tilt of his head and a lowering of his eyelids, sweeping his hat from his head as he executed a low bow to her in an exaggeratedly courtly gesture, glinting her a wide smile, "As you command ..." his voice lowered, almost intimately, "... Your Nibs!" He sketched her a quick, almost imperceptible wink, to let her know that he was aware of what her game was, and wholeheartedly approved. Clever girl! She _had _found him a way onto the _Dutchman_. It also scuttled Barbossa's plan to release Calypso, for to do so he needed all nine pieces-of-eight, including Jack's, which would shortly be with Jack aboard the _Dutchman_, and thus unattainable ...

But Barbossa turned furiously on Jack. "Blackguard!" he shouted, and in one smooth, continuous move, drew his cutlass and swung it at Jack. Jack's head snapped back and around as the blade grazed his brow, slicing a thin gash in the faded red headcloth and cutting free the ornament hanging over the top of the bandanna—a string of beads, at the bottom of which dangled a coin—Jack's piece-of-eight. It landed a few feet away in the white sands, and his simian namesake dropped from Barbossa's shoulder to snatch up the gewgaw, while Jack looked on in dismay.

Barbossa stalked toward his rival, towering over him and staring menacingly into Jack's face. "If you have somethin' to say, I might be sayin' somethin' as well," he said, darkly, in a low voice.

Something significant passed between the two pirates, an unspoken message that went deeper than the words now exchanged, the meaning of which eluded the rest of the gathering. There clearly was something at stake here ... some sort of competition between the two men.

"First to the finish, then?" Jack said, quietly, before turning away, toward Will.

At that, Will and Jack changed places, each circling the other warily, eyes narrowed as they sidled past one another. As Jack moved to step into Will's former place in the formation, Beckett moved over, blocking him, and with a gesture of his left arm, invited Jack to stand next to Davy Jones, who stared unblinkingly at Jack. As Jack carefully replaced his hat on his head, his face reflecting his apprehension, Jones bent down to intone, ominously:

"Do you fear death?"

Jack winced slightly, drawing his lips back from his ivory-and-gold teeth in an ironic grimace. "You've no idea."

Beckett took a step toward Elizabeth, addressing her directly, his voice calm and composed, and utterly conveying his sense of sureness in his superiority. "Advise your Brethren: You can fight and _all _of you will die, or you can _not _fight, in which case only _most _of you will die."

Elizabeth stepped forward, fixing Beckett with an icy, accusing stare, even as her honeyed eyes burned with suppressed fury. "You murdered my father."

Beckett smirked as he said, coolly, remorselessly, "He chose his _own _fate."

Elizabeth's eyes blazed cold fire back at him. "Then you have chosen yours," she said, then between clenched teeth, she vowed, in a voice that left no doubt as to the seriousness of her threat, "We will fight ... and you _will _die." At that she turned and walked away, sweeping past Will and Barbossa.

"So be it," Beckett said softly, to her retreating back.

Watching Elizabeth go, with Barbossa and Will trailing after her—her head held high, back ramrod straight, her proud, regal carriage bespeaking confidence and authority well suited to a leader and King—Jack wondered, with a sharp pang of regret, if this would be the last time he'd ever see her ...

_Take good care of her, William_, he thought, his heart already letting her go, saying silent goodbyes he wasn't sure he would have had the courage to put to voice, had he even been afforded the opportunity to say them to her. _Pray, keep her safe ..._

_Keep her alive ..._

* * *

As he walked away, Barbossa held out his hand, and the monkey obediently dropped Jack's piece-of-eight into the pirate's open palm. He let the trinket roll between his long fingers, then clasped his hand around it, his face a study in determination.

Will caught up with Elizabeth, falling into stride beside her, looking straight forward, even as Barbossa drew alongside them. "King?" he questioned, turning and raising an eyebrow at Elizabeth.

"Of the Brethren Court ..." she replied, glancing at Will, and their eyes met for a brief moment, "courtesy of Jack."

"Maybe he really _does _know what he's doing," he said, with a little smile, and there was a warmth in his tone that Elizabeth hadn't heard in nearly a year.

A small spark of hope flared in her breast. Perhaps something could be salvaged of her relationship with Will, after all ... if they could manage to live through this day.

* * *

The three of them returned to the ship. Barbossa ascended to the _Pearl _first, followed by Will, and then Elizabeth. As Will gave his hand to assist Elizabeth over the rail and onto the deck, they turned to approach Barbossa.

"We need to use the _Black Pearl _as a flagship to lead the attack ..." Elizabeth was saying to Will, then fell silent and drew up short as her gaze slipped past where Barbossa stood ...

"Will we, now?" Barbossa said, slyly, casting them a crafty, sidelong glance.

Elizabeth and Will stared in disbelief as they saw Tia Dalma being led up through the hatch and out onto the deck by Marty, Pintel, and Ragetti. She was bound quite thoroughly, ropes coiled around her body so thickly that it almost looked as though she was clothed in rope.

Will looked at the pirate, aghast. "Barbossa! You can't release her!"

At a small nod from Barbossa, several crew members flanked Will and Elizabeth, raising their pistols and training them on the pair, while firm hands dropped down upon their shoulders, effectively restraining them.

"We need to give Jack a chance," Elizabeth argued, staring up at Barbossa's smug profile, a small note of desperation entering her voice.

Will glanced at her. Did she know what Jack intended to do? He hadn't thought that Jack would have taken her into his confidence—Jack being Jack, after all, and skirting the truth was his nature, unless the truth actually gained him something of value ... something he wanted.

Surely, Elizabeth wouldn't let someone she loved go through with a course of action that would, essentially, guarantee that person's death, whether or not there was a chance of said person being resurrected at the end of it all.

But then, on the other hand, she _had _chained Jack to the _Pearl _with the Kraken bearing down on her, so clearly affection wasn't necessarily an impediment for her if she thought the end would justify the means ... presumably a lesson—one of, apparently, many—she had learned from Jack.

At Elizabeth's insistent words, Barbossa whirled upon her, defiantly, frustration infusing his tone with a touch of sarcasm. "Apologies, Your Majesty. Too long me fate has not been in me own hands." He reached out to finger Sao Feng's pendant, which still dangled from her throat. Her eyes flicked down to the dark-nailed hand fondling the necklace, then back up into those hard, slate-coloured eyes. He leaned in, almost intimately close. "No longer!" he breathed. And with a savage tug, he ripped it from her neck.

He stepped over to where Pintel held the bowl with the other Pirate Lords' pieces-of-eight, and added Sao Feng's necklace and Jack's little bauble to the rest. They all were gathered now round Tia Dalma, whom they had tied to the main mast, and who now stared down into the bowl with eyes slitted nearly shut.

"Be there some manner of rite or incantation?" Gibbs asked, nervously.

"Aye!" Barbossa replied. Waving his hands ostentatiously over the vessel, he intoned, "The items brought together ... done!" He reached for, and Ragetti handed him, a firing-stick. "Items to be burned ..." Gibbs stepped forward and poured a small splash of rum into the bowl from his little flask, dousing the objects. "And someone must speak the words, 'Calypso, I release you from your human bonds!'."

Pintel looked at him, dubiously. "Is that it?" He seemed somewhat disappointed.

"'Tis said it must be spoken as if to a lover," Barbossa purred with a waggle of his eyebrows, and the crew responded, in chorus, with an impressed, _"Ohhh!"_

Barbossa struck a pose, firing-stick raised in his right hand like a sceptre—had Jack been there, he might have noted the pose to be uncannily similar to that of Lord Cutler Beckett in the portrait he had seen on the _Endeavour_—and pronounced, in a pompously melodramatic voice, like lines delivered by a cringingly bad stage actor, "Calypso! I release you from your human bonds!"

Then he lowered the firing-stick to the bowl. The crew braced themselves ...

There was a little sputter, and a small curl of smoke ... then, nothing.

Barbossa craned his neck and looked into the bowl, a look of bewilderment and apprehension on his face, as Calypso turned an angry and accusing look at him.

"Is _that _it?" Pintel repeated, nonplussed at the lack of fireworks.

Ragetti stepped forward, a trifle agitated, his one existing eye huge in his thin face beside the black eye-patch. "N-no. No, you didn't _say _it right." As Barbossa turned to level a quite condescending stare at him, as if to say _Oh, really? _the lanky crewmember glanced nervously around him, then met Barbossa's cold grey glare. "Y-you have to _say _it right."

He turned his one, startling clear blue eye to Tia Dalma/Calypso, who regarded him with a look of cautious hope. "Calypso?" he said, softly, tentatively. He came closer, almost shyly, then leaned forward and brought his lips to her ear, his forehead dropping to rest against the rough, ropy curtain of her dreadlocks next to her temple, his right hand cupping his mouth, the backs of his fingers brushing lightly against her tangled hair as his eyes slipped closed and he whispered in her ear, tenderly, like a lover sharing a secret, "I release you from your human bonds."

Calypso turned her face to the sky as her eyes drifted shut, as though in ecstasy, and then, with a quick snap of her supple neck, she jerked her head down ....

Almost immediately, there was a flash of fire as the items in the bowl suddenly ignited. Pintel stepped back in surprise, releasing the bowl—which stayed where it was, floating, hovering in the air right before Calypso, who started to shake violently. She leaned forward, closing her eyes, breathing in the smoke that rose from the bowl with an almost rapturous expression on her face.

Will broke free from his captors' grip, "Tia Dalma!" But he was only able to advance a few steps before the restraining hands regained their hold on his shoulders, preventing him from going further, and he found pistols again aimed at his head. When he received no response, he tried again, in almost a whisper, _"Calypso!"_

Her eyes snapped open and she whipped her head around to stare at Will. The dish fell, with a clatter, to the deck, disgorging a shower of embers onto the weathered planks—all that was left of the Pirate Lords' pieces-of-eight.

"When the Brethren Court first imprisoned you, who was it that told them how?" Will went on, the avid look on his face and the passionate tone of his voice clearly indicating that he knew the answer to said question, and was ready to impart such valued information. He strained against the hands which held him in their iron grip. "Who was it that betrayed you?"

Calypso's dark eyes searched his, filled with a banked fury, eager for the name of her enemy, her betrayer. The air fairly crackled with electricity, the very atmosphere becoming close and laden with tension like the charged air before a breaking thunderstorm. "Name him!" she demanded.

"Davy Jones," Will said, quietly.

At the sound of the name of her former lover, the goddess' eyes widened in shock and pain, her lower lip trembled, and her face crumpled as though her very heart was breaking. She began to shake uncontrollably as grief and rage overwhelmed her ...

And then all Hell broke loose ...

As the tortured look on her face silently cried out her anguish, Calypso started growing ... and growing ... and growing. The ropes wrapped around her started writhing like snakes as they moved, slipped, shifted to accommodate her ever-increasing size. The lines tethering her to the ship's rail snapped, one by one. Some of the crew manning the ropes valiantly tried to hold their ground, to keep control of Calypso's restraints, but it soon proved to be a futile task at the ropes refused to be held, pulling through their grasp, the rough hempen fibres feeding ravenously on the skin of their palms, scraping them raw, leaving livid rope burns tattooed upon their flesh, and eventually they had no choice but to cede victory to the goddess, and release their grip ...

As the entire crew looked on in awe, she continued to grow, as tall as the mainmast itself, the massive weight of her gigantic form causing the deck planks around the base of the mast to buckle and split from the burden they were being forced to bear.

When she at last stopped growing, Barbossa stepped forward.

"Calypso!" he called out, then went down before her on one knee in a gesture of humility, bowing his head, still clasping the firing-stick in his right hand, giving the superficial appearance of some medieval knight abasing himself before his lady queen, lance in hand. The rest of the crew, some still holding on to tether ropes, did the same, in a show of respect to the goddess of the sea—Elizabeth and Will included. "I come before you as but a servant, humble and contrite." He slanted a look up at her. "I have fulfilled me vow, and now ask your favour." He flung his arms out to either side of him. "Spare meself, me ship, me crew ... but unleash your fury on those that dare pretend themselves your masters ..." he paused, then added, with a touch of sly arrogance, "... or mine."

For a while, Calypso remained silent, staring down at them benignly, and the tension lay thick in the air as all awaited her answer to Barbossa's request. Discomfited by her continued silence, and by the lack of reaction, Barbossa looked up at her with uneasy eyes.

Then, without warning Calypso's face twisted in fury, and she began to roar in the forgotten language of the gods, her words indistinguishable, but conveying her rage all too clearly. She thrashed against her bonds, whipping her head from side to side in a full-blown tantrum of truly deific proportions. The rope-holders tightened their hold as they backed away from the enraged goddess, trying to bring her back under control, like some great, unruly beast. But Calypso would not be controlled—not now, and never again ...

Even as she continued thrashing, Calypso started to disintegrate, crumble, transforming into thousands upon thousands of small crabs, raining down on the _Pearl_, flooding her deck in a crustacean tide as deep as a man's height, inundating the crew, setting the _Pearl _a-rock with its shifting weight, cascading over the sides of the ship, disappearing into the sea ... save for a few random crabs that had attached themselves, painfully, to various crew members ...

The crew ran to the deck rails, to peer down into the water, but once the crabs vanished under the surface, there was nothing left to be seen. Calypso had returned to the sea.

Barbossa's gambit had failed. Jack had been right—the goddess had felt under no obligation to help them, and had abandoned them to their fate ...

"Is that it?" Will asked, dryly, parroting Pintel's earlier, repeated questions.

"Why, she's no help at all!" Pintel groused. He turned to Barbossa. "What now?"

Barbossa stood there, slumped, defeated, disheartened. "Nothin'," he said in a gruff, dispirited voice. "Our final hope has failed us."

_Not our _final _hope_, Elizabeth thought. _There's still Jack ... _

But in the meantime, there was Beckett to deal with. An armada to face. Oblivion to fend off ...

As they stood there, the wind suddenly picked up, ruffling the draped swags of the _Pearl_'s furled sails, snatching the hat from one of the Asian crewmembers, carrying it up, up ... past the yards, higher than the mast itself, and up into the sky.

Elizabeth turned and looked up, following the progress of the hat, watched as the ropes and riggings swayed, listened to the creaking of the ship and the rattle of its fittings against the rising sound of the wind. And it was though the _Black Pearl_—Jack's _Pearl_—was talking to her, speaking in a language that only she could understand, murmuring in her ear words of encouragement, reminding her: _I'm still here ... all is not yet lost ... I'm yours to command ... take me ... use me ... as my master would want you to ..._

And, again, Jack's words: _We either fight and win ... or we fight and die ..._

A contemplative look came over her face as the skies started to darken with gathering storm clouds ... Calypso's wrath, beginning to manifest itself in the changing weather.

"It's not over!" Elizabeth said over the gathering winds.

"There's still a fight to be had!" Will added his voice in support of Elizabeth.

Gibbs looked at Will as though he thought him as crazy as Jack. "We've an armada against us, and with the _Dutchman _there's no chance ..."

Elizabeth thought back to Will's words at the Parlay, about fools and lost causes ... and the look he and Jack had exchanged—an almost conspiratorial look. The corner of her lips quirked, for the barest moment, in something that didn't quite blossom into a smile as a thought came to her in a blinding flash. Had Will, somehow, _also_ known about Jack's plan to get on the _Dutchman_?

"There's only a _fool's _chance," she said quietly to herself, her face blank, but an ocean of thoughts, memories, and emotions churning beneath the placid surface of her dark-honey eyes. She thought of one fool who was possibly, even now, on the _Dutchman_, enacting a plan that might result not only in his own death, but the death of any hope they had of winning ...

She thought of her father ... dead at Beckett's hand.

And of James, who had compromised his principles, and ultimately died trying to redeem himself in her eyes ...

But, most of all, of Jack ... who could, even now, be lying dead on the _Flying Dutchman_, or been consigned again to the undying hell of Davy Jones' Locker ...

... or still fighting to save them in his last-ditch attempt to gain them even the smallest tactical advantage against Beckett, at the risk of his own life and freedom ...

Barbossa came to stand at her left shoulder, and replied with typical pirate pragmatism, ready to abandon the fight, "Revenge won't bring your father back, Miss Swann, and it's not somethin' I'm intendin' to die for!"

And she saw the fundamental difference between this man and Jack. Barbossa would hold to the pirate code, abandon his comrades and run to save his own skin, sacrifice everyone and anything to serve his own purposes, would always put his own needs and desires first. The consummate pirate.

While Jack, though eminently capable of doing supremely selfish things for his own gain, had on several notable occasions done things simply because they had been the right thing to do, with no prospect of profit for himself. Such as saving her from drowning after her fall from Fort Charles. And, as she had learned from Gibbs, his continued donation of a portion of his pirating profits to help the unfortunate denizens of the swamps along the Pantano River, in honour of his long-time debt to Tia Dalma for once saving his life.

She nodded her head, almost imperceptibly, then turned to regard Barbossa coolly. "You're right." She walked past him, continued walking until she was just past Gibbs, then turned back to fix Barbossa with a hard stare. "Then what _shall _we die for?"

Not for revenge. Not to further the cause and interests of piracy. But simply for the right to _live,_ and to be _free_.

She thought of what Jack had told her, the night before ... after she had dissolved into a pool of tears, grieving her recent losses ... words of encouragement, of strength:

_"You need to be strong, decisive, ruthless … A King worthy of respect, ready to lead her troops to victory ..."_

She faced the crew, striding through them as they parted to let her by, her voice calling out, filled with authority, "You will listen to me!" This was not just Elizabeth Swann speaking to them, but their leader ... their King. _"Listen!"_

She climbed up on the ship's rail, holding onto the ropes ... ropes similar to the ones that, not long ago, she had been clinging to as she cried out to her father's drifting death-boat, and another rail she had nearly pitched herself off of into the black seas of World's End, after her father ...

When she turned, all eyes were fixed on her, watching her, waiting to hear what she had to say.

"The Brethren will still be looking here, to us ... to the _Black Pearl _to lead. And what will they see?" She let a hint of disgust colour her voice. "Frightened bilge rats aboard a derelict ship?" Her voice was suddenly infused with steel and iron ... the steel of a battle sword, the iron of mighty cannons, and the confining prison bars and the EITC shackles they sought to cast off. "No! No, they will see free men! And _freedom_! And what the enemy will see will be the flash of our cannons, they will hear the ring of our swords, and they will know what we can do!"

She fixed her eyes on Barbossa, borrowing the same passion-filled words he had used while attempting to inspire, to sway the Brethren Court to his course of action. "By the sweat of our brows, and the strength of our backs ..." She saw Barbossa's blue-grey eyes rise to meet hers, sharply. "... and the courage of our hearts!"

* * *

Looking at Elizabeth, listening to her words of inspiration, Will felt his heart swell with pride. No matter what she had done, past or present, he still loved her, and he cursed himself for a fool for having kept his distance, shutting her out, all these past months when he could have been fighting to win back her affection, to win her heart away from Jack.

And now he saw what Jack had seen in her, what had drawn the jaded, world-experienced pirate to her, more than just her physical attractiveness, or the prospect of making yet another sexual conquest, as Will had initially thought.

He saw the fire in her soul lighting her gemstone eyes with the radiant brilliance of a lighthouse beacon, the bravery of her heart shining clear and pure in that beautiful, beloved face, the sheer magnificence that burned within her like a thousand rising suns, surrounding her like a lambent glow.

Perhaps she was always destined to be more, and he had simply refused to see it, for fear of losing her. More than just a pampered governor's daughter. More than just the wife of a humble blacksmith. More, even, than just an adventure-seeking pirate ...

And he found himself falling in love with her all over again. Not with the girl who had saved him from the sea, nor the beautiful unattainable Governor's daughter he had worshipped from afar, nor the spirited yet shy young lady who had happily agreed to be his fiancée ... but this strong, brave woman, speaking words of inspiration and courage to men who were looking to her for leadership ... this Captain and King, ready to lead them all into an all but hopeless battle, fight beside her crew and subjects, and lay down her life for the sake of those who depended on her ...

And he avowed, then and there ... if they were to survive this day, he would win back her heart ... and, if she would still have him after the incredible ass he had acted toward her this past year, he would ask her again to become his wife ...

... if it wasn't already too late.

* * *

Elizabeth now turned back to the crew, and her eyes alit on Will, standing spellbound, his eyes fixed on her. "Gentlemen ... hoist the colours!"

Will smiled and repeated, "Hoist the colours!"

Pintel and Ragetti cried out the order as well, and Gibbs, broken from his own spell, looked up at the _Pearl_'s furled sails, saw the promise of speed in the rising winds once those sails were _un_furled and allowed to catch and ride that breeze. "Aye! The wind's on our side, boys! That's all we need!"

And the crew burst into action, cheering. The Jolly Roger was raised, even as men scrambled up the ratlines to tend to the sails ...

Elizabeth turned toward the _Empress_ and cried out, "HOIST THE COLOURS!" and Tai Huang drew and raised his sword, taking up the cry ... and soon the call went down the line, carrying to the other ships ... the ships of the Brethren ... and they all, one after another, followed suit, raising their flags proudly, the lusty voices of their respective crews rising to join the jubilant cacophony.

And then lightning flashed, and the clouds opened up to rain Calypso's dark fury down upon them all from iron-grey skies, and the seas started to swirl hungrily ...

And, while Beckett's armada and the Brethren's fleet looked on from a distance, the _Black Pearl _and the _Flying Dutchman_ advanced on one another, and the battle was begun ...

* * *


	11. The Final Battle

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

**

* * *

**

- Chapter 10 -  
**The Final Battle**

On the _Black Pearl_, the battle was engaged in earnest. Some of Jones' crew and EITC troops had swung over from the _Dutchman_, and a fierce conflict was being waged between them and the _Pearl_'s crew. Up on the wheel deck, Barbossa was attempting to steer and fend off multiple attackers at the same time, with Cotton's help, even as Will and Elizabeth, like a couple of sword-wielding whirling dervishes, met and cut down foe after foe on the main deck. Calypso's wind-driven tears of grief and rage still pelted relentlessly down on them from the roiling heavens, and the repeated boom of cannon fire from both ships seemed to echo, and at times even drown out, the storm's own thunder. The _Pearl_'s deck canted at an impossible angle as she skirted the walls of the maelstrom, making footing—already a dicey prospect on a rolling ship deck—that much more treacherous.

Elizabeth—soaked to the skin, hair plastered to her head in lank, sodden strands—fought valiantly, fending off yet another attack by one of the _Dutchman_'s crew, putting to good use all the skills which Will and Barbossa had taught her, with deadly accuracy. Watching her, even as he admired her swordsmanship and the ease with which she handled her weapon, Will was suddenly gripped with fear ... fear that they wouldn't come through this alive, fear that he would never have a chance to tell her again that he loved her, never get a chance to make her his wife, as he wished to with all his heart ...

Driven by desperation, as yet another contingent of _Dutchman _crew dropped from their ropes to alight on the _Pearl_'s deck, he called out to her. "Elizabeth!" As he blocked the blow of a descending sword with his own, steel rang on steel, then sang in rough metallic harmony as his blade glided down the other's, propelled by the power of his arm, so that, upon release, the force spun his enemy away, in Elizabeth's direction. As the fish-man's blade _swooshed_ harmlessly over their heads, then swept up in preparation for another blow, Will and Elizabeth lunged as one, both their blades skewering their opponent's torso. He dropped lifelessly to the deck.

As Elizabeth turned to rejoin her fellows in defence of the _Pearl_, Will called out again, "Elizabeth!" He reached out to grasp her arm, and she turned back to him, questioningly. "Will you marry me?"

She stared open-mouthed at him in disbelief, then, as another of Jones' fish-faced crew attacked with a harsh cry, his sword arcing down toward Will and Elizabeth, coming to a sudden stop with a _crash_ as they deftly blocked his blade with their crossed swords. She cast Will an incredulous look. "I don't think now's the best time!" she screamed over the wind and rain.

As she turned back to slash at the enemy, temporarily driving him back, her eyes darted quickly over to the _Dutchman _for about the hundredth time since the battle commenced, searching yet again for Jack ... for any sign he was still alive, still on the _Dutchman _... She thought, for just a moment, she caught a glimpse of him, high up in the _Dutchman_'s rigging, his familiar silhouette braced sure-footed as a cat on one of the yards, sword raised and flashing against the dark sky and the _Dutchman_'s tattered sails, but she couldn't be certain at this distance, with the rain running in her eyes ...

Will dispatched another enemy with a swift slash of his sword across his gut. "Now may be the _only _time!" Will persisted, and she realised he might actually be serious. Then each of them were beset by an East India Trading Company soldier. Will drove his enemy back, even as Elizabeth plunged her sword through the midsection of hers, then spun to find herself face-to-face with Will again, her arm linked with his. "I love you!"

For a moment she was paralysed by his declaration, her eyes darting over his face, seeing the truth in his eyes. It had been so long since he had said those words to her, with sincerity ... since she had seen that look in his eyes, untainted by mistrust or hurt or suspicion.

But before she could think too long on it, they each were distracted by the fight, each engaging another foe, defeating them, before finding themselves facing each other again. Will grasped her by the forearm.

"I've made my choice!" Will's eyes gazed lovingly into hers, and the renewed warmth in them, the flare of passion, heightened by the heat of battle, melted her heart ... a heart that was starting to get used to the idea of never holding him within its tender confines again. "What's yours?"

Staring into his face, she hesitated. She knew she had to talk to him ... to tell him things ... things about her and Jack, that might colour his decision, cool his new-found ardour for her, make him think twice about his renewed offer of marriage. But the battle still raged around them, and there was no time for thought, let alone talk ...

Only time for decisive action …

"Barbossa!" she cried out, still staring into Will's face, which fell into an aspect of confusion at her lack of a clear answer. She whirled away from Will, to face the helm, her eyes seeking and finding the man in question, whose back was to them, in the midst of fighting off several of Jones' men. "Marry us!"

Barbossa turned, eyes wide and blazing, his blood up from the battle. "I'm a little busy at the moment!" he roared, with more than a soupçon of sarcasm, then turned back to the fight ...

Will smiled broadly at her, and for a moment it was as though a ray of sunlight had broken through the heavy clouds. And then they were beset again, their blades slicing through the air to stave off yet more of the enemy.

At a brief pause in the fighting, Will called up to the helm, "Barbossa! _Now_!"

"Fine, then!" Barbossa said in exasperation, killing two of Jones' men and driving back one more before climbing up on the boxy platform between the rail and the wheel, pausing to kick away an EITC soldier with a swift boot to the head before gaining his feet to stand on the platform, like a preacher in his pulpit. After another brief bout of fighting, Will came to stand just behind Elizabeth's left shoulder, clasping her round the waist, looking down into her upturned face as Barbossa commenced the "ceremony."

Feet braced wide apart, sword still clutched in his right hand, Barbossa placed his left hand on his chest, just over his heart. "Dearly beloved, we be gathered here today ..." he began, then swore and parried as yet another of Jones' crew attacked from the left, ... _"to nail your gizzard to the mast, you poxy cur!"_ His foot lashed out to kick his spiny attacker in the face ...

Then Will and Elizabeth were off once more, she ducking as Will's sword slashed above her head, knocking aside the sword of an EITC soldier, while Elizabeth slashed from below, before they ran off in opposite directions, circling round and coming together again on the far side of the mast.

Their raised hands met, still clasping their swords, as Will stared down into her face. "Elizabeth Swann, do you take me to be your husband?"

Her heart soared to hear the words, to feel the depth of emotion conveyed by Will's eyes and voice, and she was positively giddy, riding a wave of riant elation as she grinned widely and replied, "I do!"

A stunned look crossed Will's face, as if he could hardly believe she had just agreed to be his. "Great!" He ducked as a sword cleft the air just above his head.

And then they whirled away from each other, dodging and parrying more enemy sword-strokes, before meeting up again, left hands clasped.

"Will Turner, do you take me ..." Hands still linked, they each turned to land a few more blows, "... to be your wife?" More blows as he spun her in a graceful pirouette, hands still clasped, the clash of their blades ringing out like the peal of bellicose wedding bells as they fended off even more blows. Will dipped below her arm to skewer another enemy. "In sickness and in health ..." Will's left arm went round her waist from behind as she blocked another enemy down-stroke with raised sword, just as Will's right arm shot forward, his blade piercing that same man's chest. "With health being the less likely," she said as she kicked the fallen foe to the ground.

Will turned to knock aside a few more blows, then turned and grabbed her round the waist again. "I do!"

Then they both ducked again as swords _swooshed _above their heads.

From his perch up above, Barbossa was being attacked from both sides, his sword swinging quickly left, then right, deftly parrying both opponents' blades. "As Captain I now pronounce you—" He ran an EITC soldier through, even as Will and Elizabeth, turned in each other's arms, fighting behind the other's back, did the same with two more adversaries ... "You may kiss—" He drew his pistol and shot another EITC man, with a bark of harsh laughter. Will spun Elizabeth and bent her low over one arm, his face dipping toward her for the kiss. Their lips were just about the meet when they were attacked by another EITC soldier; Will let her up again and, together, they ran the soldier through. "You may kiss—" but again Barbossa was interrupted by attackers. Will and Elizabeth each turned and cut down another enemy each, then spun and crossed swords ... with each other!

Now fending off several foes, Barbossa turned, slightly out of breath, and called out, impatiently, "Just kiss!"

Will and Elizabeth fairly leapt against one another as he pulled her into the crook of his left arm, and their lips met, at last, in a long, lingering, unrestrained kiss ...

Elizabeth's left hand clasped Will by the back of the neck, as their mouths fed off one another's, and the world seemed to fade away around them. For a long, breathtaking moment they were aware of nothing but their lips on one another's, clutching each other desperately in their own little island of calm, like the eye of a storm, as the battle raged all around them.

But their bliss was short-lived, as, inevitably, they were drawn into the fray again ... and the _Pearl _lurched as she and the _Dutchman _swiped against one another, the masts and riggings becoming entangled, as the two ships swirled together on the mouth of the mighty whirlpool ...

Suddenly, after cutting down yet another enemy, Will looked up, toward the _Dutchman _...

... to see Jack dangling high above, directly over the swirling vortex of water, clasping the chest by one handle, while Davy Jones, perched on the yardarm, held the other ...

Will looked around frantically, searching for a means onto the _Dutchman_, realising that, without the chest, there was little hope of saving his father. If Jack fell and was swallowed by the maelstrom, the chest would be lost—either joining Jack as he perished in the ravenous swirling waters, or leaving it again in Jones' possession, in which case it would be nigh irretrievable.

And, if Jack died without first stabbing the heart, that would leave no one but himself to complete that task—freeing his father from his one-hundred-year bond of servitude to Jones, but losing his mortal life ... and the chance to live it, raise a family, and grow old together with his new bride ... in the process.

Taking one last glance at Elizabeth—who had sprung to Barbossa's aid, sword raised and at the ready, flashing a silver-white streak like the lightning splitting the stormy sky above—Will grabbed a dangling rope and leapt onto the _Pearl_'s rail, nearly pitching off it into the maelstrom as his boots slipped on the rain-slicked wood. Regaining his footing and his equilibrium, he wrapped his hands firmly around the rope and launched himself from the rail, into the turbulent air over the gaping abyss between the two ships, to land surprisingly lightly on the _Dutchman_'s steeply canted deck.

The first thing he saw upon landing, incredibly, was the chest lying, apparently abandoned, atop the iron grid of the cargo hatch ...

Racing forth, he grabbed the chest, then turned and ran, flinging his head back out of the way as he just narrowly missed being decapitated by a cannon blast that spewed a wave of sharp wood fragments practically in his face. He ran forward ...

Only to be confronted by Maccus, Davy Jones' first mate.

Recognising him, Maccus yelled, "Turner!" and raised his axe, lunging at Will. Will blocked the first blow with the chest. As Maccus swung the axe again at Will's head, and he ducked out of the way, something small and furry rocketed past Will, attaching itself to Maccus' face. Disorientated, Maccus back-pedalled, and fell through the rope rail, down to the main deck ...

"Thank you, Jack!" Will said to the monkey, as he ran off again with the chest.

Suddenly, another of the _Dutchman_'s crew turned on Will and attacked, knocking him down, sending the chest flying out of his hands and tumbling onto the deck. Swords clashed as Will's assailant viciously attacked. It took a moment for Will to penetrate the barnacles encrusting the other's face to recognise the identity of his attacker, so changed was he now from the last time Will had seen him ...

It was his father!

As he fended off yet another sword blow, Will cried out, "It's me!" Swords locked together, he leaned in closer, peering into his father's face. "Your son!"

For a moment, Will thought that Bootstrap recognised him, for he leaned forward, his hand coming round as if to gently clasp the back of his son's head ...

But then he grabbed Will by the hair, and spun him away, sending him crashing into the wall, then attacking him again with his sword ...

Meanwhile, Jack and Davy Jones were locked in a battle for possession of the fallen chest. Jones had just knocked Jack to the deck, when Elizabeth swung over from the _Pearl_, landing practically on top of Jones as she let go of her rope, ending up between him and the chest.

As they came face-to-face, Jones cried out, "Harridan! You'll see no mercy from me!"

Elizabeth put her hand to the hilt of her sword. "That's why I brought this!" she yelled, drawing her sword, and swinging it at Jones, who blocked her blow with his blade. They exchanged blows for a few moments, until Jones drew back his left arm and backhanded her savagely across the face, knocking her against the wheel deck stairs, sending the sword flying from her hand, and temporarily stunning her into unconsciousness.

Will had just disarmed his father, and turned just in time to see the blow, see Elizabeth fall to slump against the steps ...

Sword to his father's neck, Will drew the knife his father had given him. "I'm not going to kill you. I made you a promise." And he thrust the knife into the rail next to Bootstrap.

Jones advanced on the unconscious Elizabeth, and drew back his sword-arm, preparing to run her through ...

Only to freeze as he found a sword emerging from his own chest, where his heart would have been, had he still possessed one.

"Missed!" he said over his shoulder, "Did you forget? I'm a _heartless_ wretch." And then, with his clawed hand, he grabbed the tip of the sword, bending it so that Will, tug as he might, was unable to pull it back out.

Jones merely laughed at Will's efforts, then turned and swung his sword at Will's head. Before Will could regain his balance, Jones, with a mighty kick of his malformed leg to Will's chest, sent him sprawling to the deck. Jones stalked toward Will, murder in his eyes …

Then he got a good look at his attacker for the first time, his eyes narrowing in recognition. As Jones' gaze moved from Will to Elizabeth, seeing the look that passed between them, he recalled what Jack had once told him about this boy, Bootstrap's son: _"He's in love ... with a girl ... due to be married ... betrothed ..."_

He realised this brazen, sword-wielding strumpet must be _the _girl ... the girl Turner loved.

"Ah ... love," he crooned in a mockingly romantic tone. "A dreadful bond. And yet, so easily severed." He advanced on Will.

"Tell me, William Turner … do you fear death?" Sword poised at Will's throat, Davy Jones stood above the junior Turner, who still sprawled on the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_. He smiled evilly, and prepared to deliver the killing blow, but then a voice rang out over the storm, a familiar gravelly baritone, right behind him:

"Do _you_?"

A look of surprise washed over Jones' tentacled face, and he turned slowly around.

Jack Sparrow, rain pouring down his face and sluicing down his body, stood near the ship's rail, broken sword raised over the pulsing object he held in his left hand, also dripping with rainwater ...

_The heart!_

Jones' gaze flicked down to the deck, where he saw the chest, standing open, at Jack's feet ...

_Empty!_

As his gaze snapped back up to Sparrow, Jack grinned, taking great pleasure in having the advantage over his nemesis—the monster responsible for unleashing the dreaded Kraken on him, the one who had consigned him to the feared, hated and desolate depths of the Locker ...

"Heady tonic," Jack went on, his grin widening, his voice lightly menacing, laced with an undercurrent of satisfaction, "Holding life and death in the palm of one's hand." Oh, yes … he was enjoying this, immensely! He intended to make Jones squirm a bit, before ridding the world forever of his unnatural existence ... pay Jones back a bit for what squid-faced bastard had put him through ...

Jones' face turned cold, his eyes hardening to glittering ice that seared like the arctic kiss of frostbite. "You're a cruel man, Jack Sparra'!" he snarled.

"Cruel is a matter of perspective," Jack replied, his eyes and smile equally cold.

"Is it?" Jones' face twisted, and Jack had no time at all to react before, with a roar, Jones spun round and plunged his sword—the one that Will himself had crafted, long ago, for Commodore James Norrington—deep into Will's chest!

Jack heard Elizabeth's gasp even as his own eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open in shock and horror, looking on a scene out of his worst nightmare. _NoNoNoNoNoNoNo-o-o...!!!_

With savage delight, Jones turned his wrist, twisting the sword ruthlessly in Will's chest, putting paid to even the remotest possibility of Will surviving the grievous injury. As Will cried out hoarsely in agony, Jack knew it to be a mortal blow. There was no hope of living with a shredded heart. Jones drew back, leaving the sword protruding from Will's chest, leaving him pinned to the deck like a butterfly to a collector's board.

As he stared into Jones' triumphant eyes, Jack was paralysed with indecision. This was something he hadn't taken into his calculations! An outcome unthinkable and, therefore, not planned for. He thought, once he had the heart, Jones would be, as he had been with Beckett, completely compliant and at his mercy, desperate to save himself from the oblivion of final death. Jack had sorely underestimated the depths to which Jones' cruelty could sink ...

As Jones' deep laughter rang out, rising above the roar of the maelstrom like the rolling din of thunder, Jack looked down at the heart in his hand, truncated sword still poised for the blow, trying, belatedly, to come up with a Plan B ... The infernal thing pulsed with unnatural life, even as Will's damaged heart pumped out his precious life's blood onto the deck of the _Dutchman _...

He watched as Elizabeth slowly made her way to Will's side, her face a mask of shock and horror nearly identical to Jack's. "Will!" She went to her knees next to him and cradled his rain-drenched face between her palms ...

"Will! Look at me! Stay with me! You're all right!" she was crying out, her hands moving restlessly, frantically, over Will's face, and Jack didn't have to see the look on her face to feel her desperation, her panic, her terror of losing yet someone else she loved ....

Jack stared at the tableau before him, frozen into inactivity. He was dimly aware of Bootstrap's roar of grief and rage as he launched himself at Jones, landing on his back ...

Jack was ordinarily exceptionally good at improvisation, his ability to think on his feet and adapt quickly to changing circumstances having gotten him through many a scrape in the past. But now … watching Will's blood spill out at an alarming rate, like rich dark wine on the rain-soaked, weathered deck of the _Dutchman_, Elizabeth clinging to him desperately, as though she could save him through sheer force of will ... his mind had difficulty taking it all in, running slowly and sluggishly like treacle, plunging him into a welter of indecision.

The only thing that thrummed through his head was a litany, pulsing like the benighted heart he held in his hand …

_Stab the heart … Don't stab the heart … Stab the heart … Don't stab the heart …_

Jack stared down at the cursed thing pulsating in his hand. Its throbbing seemed to mock him, like the low chuckle of Jones' derisive laughter ...

_If I strike, Jones is defeated, and I take his place, immortal Captain of the Dutchman, but William dies ..._

_If I _don't _strike, Jones lives on, still immortal, still Captain, and William still dies, and likely Elizabeth ... and me ... as well ..._

His eyes were drawn back to Elizabeth, who continued to caress Will's face, pleading in desperation, "Will! Will! Look at me! _Look at me_!!!" From the tone of Elizabeth's voice, he knew that Will must be weakening, lapsing into unconsciousness, his heart unable to sustain life to his broken body ... there were perhaps only mere seconds left ...

The sound of Elizabeth's anguished voice, her despair, her grief tore at him. She was seeing the man she loved slipping away before her eyes ... and Jack was losing not only the son of one of his oldest, closest mates—a man who might have become a friend, had Jack not made it a policy not to trust _any _man—but also a woman he cared for, more than any other woman in the world. He knew, should Will die, Elizabeth would want to follow him in death ... as she had wanted to follow her father ... providing Jones didn't take her first ...

_Elizabeth!_

He remembered her, the night she had discovered her father was dead ... wrapped in his arms, in his cabin, in his bed, sobbing as though her heart would break ...

And ... God, had it only been last night? ... again, in his cabin, naked on the floor, crying in his arms, this time for the loss of an old friend and former fiancé ...

And now ... Will. Was there any way to save her having to go through yet one more devastating loss—one that, he knew, had the potential of destroying her completely? How much more could the poor woman bear? Was he to be forced, yet again, to hold her while she wept?

_No ..._

He recalled words he had once spoken to Will, it seemed like a lifetime ago ...

_"The only rules that really matter are these: What a man _can _do ... and what a man _can't _do."_

He suddenly knew what he _had _to do. The only thing that _could _be done, the best that could be done for _her_, though not an ideal solution by any means. It meant tremendous sacrifice, on all their parts ...

Sacrificing his own dreams of immortality and freedom: freedom from the hangman, freedom from the pall of death itself, freedom to sail the seas forever ...

Elizabeth, sacrificing the chance of a normal and happy life with the man she had loved, dreamed of being with, for over ten years ...

And, most of all, Will ... sacrificing his chance to be with the woman he loved, every day, every night ... to hold her, and love her, and make love to her, save one day every ten years, and those ten years filled with a solemn duty, ferrying the dead to their final destination ...

No, not an ideal solution by any means. But, given the alternative, one he felt they all could bear to live with ...

While Bootstrap and Jones remained locked in their bitter fight, Jack scrambled across the wet deck, to where Will lay immobile, Elizabeth crying as she saw the life ebbing from the warm brown eyes, her own awash with rainwater and tears ...

Dropping to one knee, Jack lay the heart down, then grabbed the hand lying slack against the rain-drenched planks, slapping the handle of his broken sword into it. Wrapping his long brown fingers around Will's, he coaxed the young man's nerveless digits to close around the hilt ...

He saw Turner's fading gaze drift ....

... over Elizabeth hovering anxiously above him ...

... then beyond her to where Bootstrap struggled with Davy Jones ...

... then down to the weapon pressed into his hand ...

... and finally to the heart lying on the deck.

Will's eyes turned up to Jack, widening as he realised what he intended to do, and then a last spark of awareness flared in their depths, and Jack read the tacit consent in those eyes even as Will, with the last of his waning strength, gave a weak, almost imperceptible nod, his lips silently forming the words: _Do it! _

Elizabeth turned panicked eyes from Will to Jack, first in confusion, then in dawning understanding as she watched Jack lift his and Will's linked hands over the heart ...

Jones had won the skirmish with Bootstrap, and now slammed him against the rail. "You will not forestall my judgement!" he cried, raising his sword over the elder Turner, ready to dispatch him ...

Just as Jack drove Will's hand downward, plunging the broken sword into the heart!

Jones froze with a gasp, his filmy blue eyes widening in shock and pain, his facial tentacles lashing in distress, then he slowly turned ...

To see the heart, pinned to the deck by the remains of Jack's sword, loosely held in Will's grasp, just as Jack released his hand. As Will's grip failed, and his hand fell limply to the deck, Jack and Elizabeth looked at Jones, expectantly ...

Jones' face filled with horrified realisation and, then profound sadness as he turned his tentacled face to the cascade of rain and the roiling black sky and gasped out his last word, in a broken voice ... _"Calypso!"_

Then the _Dutchman _listed, and he pitched backward, over the rail, falling into the heart of the maelstrom, down into the sea goddess' waiting arms ...

Elizabeth clutched at Will, watching the last of his life slipping away, his eyes growing dark and empty like lightless windows, then drifting shut as he breathed his last breath ... _"No! No! NO!" _she cried, as Jack looked on, his heart breaking for her, wishing there was some way—_any _way—he could have spared her this ...

And then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, saw the _Dutchman_'s crew breaking free from the walls of the ship, emerging from the shadows, coming nearer ... saw Bootstrap approaching, the black-and-white-hilted knife clutched in his hand. Behind him the crew of the _Dutchman _were chanting, as one, as they flocked behind Bootstrap:

_"Part of the ship, part of the crew ... part of the ship, part of the crew ... part of the ship, part of the crew ..."_

With horror, Jack realised what was about to happen ... and it wasn't anything that Elizabeth needed to see. He didn't want _that_ to be the last image she would have in her mind of Will ...

He also knew that, with no one manning its helm, the _Dutchman _was doomed, destined to be sucked down into the whirling watery vortex of the maelstrom ...

"Don't leave me!" Elizabeth screamed, clutching at Will, as if she could pull him back from the jaws of death. But it was too late. _Much _too late ...

As Bootstrap and the crew advanced, Jack rushed forward, grabbing Elizabeth by the shoulders, pulling her away, felt her resistance under his hands.

Elizabeth fought Jack, trying desperately to break free, to stay with her now-dead love ... _"I won't leave you!" _she screamed, and Jack remembered, with a chill of _déjà vu_, Elizabeth crying out those exact words, as she watched her father drift away into eternity's mists, lost to her forever ...

Jack looked up, dark eyes darting about frenetically, searching for an avenue of escape, and saw the _Black Pearl_, having freed herself from her entanglement with the _Dutchman_, speeding away, too far now for them to swing over. And jumping overboard would be tantamount to suicide, for they would only be pulled down into the maelstrom as well ...

The swirling wind whipped up, nearly snatching Jack's hat from his head. He heard the tattered sails snap above him, and looked up ...

And suddenly had an idea. An insane, desperate, one-in-a-million shot at escape, but he could live with those odds, which were far preferable to absolute zero ... the only other alternative was certain death.

Drawing Elizabeth back to the rail, Jack let her go long enough to turn and grab a coil of rope, part of the rigging fixing the sails in place ... then his black eyes scanned the deck frantically, seeking something ...

And then Bootstrap was there, crouching over Will's body, while one of the crew stood just behind him, holding the empty chest, lid raised, waiting for the new heart that would soon occupy it ...

Jack rushed forward, and bent to retrieve a discarded rifle from the tilting deck ... the _Dutchman _was starting to go down!

"The _Dutchman _must have a Captain ...!" Bootstrap intoned, then raised the knife ...

As the knife flashed down, Jack held on desperately to the rope with his left hand, the rifle clutched in his right. He cried out to Elizabeth, who was already clutching onto Jack, straining to turn back for a last look at Will, "Hold on!"

Jack raised the rifle and, turning Elizabeth's face into his chest, into the folds of his sodden frock coat, he fired ...

His shot was perfectly on the mark, severing the ropes fastening the sail to the ship. As the gale-force winds caught it in its powerful updraft, the sail billowed and rose, pulling Jack and Elizabeth with it ... carrying them up into the air, even as the _Dutchman _was sucked down into the maelstrom, dragged down in Calypso's deadly embrace, down into the depths of the sea ...

Jack and Elizabeth watched as the _Dutchman _disappeared into the massive whirlpool, taking Will, Bootstrap, and Jones' crew with it ...

As Jack looked down on the scene grimly, Elizabeth turned her face into Jack's shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, hanging on for dear life ...

Once the _Dutchman _was gone, the sea began to calm, rising up to fill the vortex, the dark clouds started to lift, the rain stopping, the skies beginning to clear ...

Jack and Elizabeth drifted on the final currents of the storm's winds, but as they died down, they started to descend, down to the now-calm waters, splashing down very close to the _Black Pearl _...

The _Pearl _turned to where the two bobbed in the water, and before long Elizabeth and Jack, and Jack's simian namesake, who had hitched a lift on the dangling tail of the sail's rope, were climbing up the side of the ship, back to the welcoming safety of the _Pearl _...

Gibbs put out a hand to help first Elizabeth, then Jack up on the deck. "Thank Goodness, Jack. The armada's still out there. The _Endeavour_'s comin' up hard to starboard, and I think it's time we embraced that oldest and noblest of pirate traditions ..."

But Jack was striding toward the opposite rail, to the side of the ship where one could see the array of enemy ships, sitting and waiting to swoop down on them. "Never actually been one for tradition," Jack said dismissively, looking out at the armada, as Gibbs gaped at him.

He turned, striding in the direction of the wheel deck, and shouted to the crew, "Close-haul her! Luff the sails and lay on iron!"

As Cotton spun the wheel to start turning the _Pearl _into the wind, rather than with it, the crew scrambled to start slackening the canvas, robbing the sails of the ability to catch the wind ...

Barbossa intercepted him, countermanding his orders. "Belay that, or we'll be a sitting duck!" Jack was, in essence, telling them to bring the _Pearl _to a full stop. With the Pearl, in essence, dead in the water, the _Endeavour _would be upon them, and the _Pearl _in range of her cannons, in no time at all ...

"Belay that 'belay that'!" Jack shouted, countermanding Barbossa's countermand.

Gibbs stepped forward, "But, Cap'n ..."

"Belay that!" Jack repeated, emphatically.

"The armada ...!" Gibbs persisted.

"Belay!" Jack said, in a voice that said he would brook no argument.

But Gibbs would not be silenced ... "But we ..."

As Gibbs sought to continue arguing the point, Jack turned on him, "No! _Shut it!_" he gestured sharply with his arms, indicating the subject was closed. Gibbs finally fell silent, though his expression showed he was none too happy about it. He followed Jack as he climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck, where Cotton had the wheel.

Barbossa went to the rail, casting his uneasy gaze at the arrayed armada ...

Jack joined him, and as the _Endeavour _rapidly approached, readying her big guns, his keen eyes searched the waters between Beckett's ship and the _Pearl _expectantly, as if looking for something ...

_Come on, come on! _he thought to himself. _Don't fail me in this, William! Think like me! Think like _me_ and come to the same conclusion. Do what I planned to do! The life of your Elizabeth, and indeed all of us, depends on this ..._

He turned and looked at said lady ... their King ... who turned confused eyes to him, as though to say, _What are you _waiting _for?_

Then, in the waters between them and the _Endeavour_, the waves parted in a tremendous spray of water, and a familiar prow broke the surface, surging up out of the sea ...

The _Flying Dutchman_!

As the ghost ship drew nearer to the _Pearl_, Elizabeth stared out at it, straining to make out a rather familiar silhouette standing upon its wheel deck. One could just make out the voice of the _Dutchman_'s new captain carrying over the space between the two ships, shouting out the orders to his crew: _"Ready on the guns!"_

Elizabeth's face split into a brilliant smile as she recognised that figure, that voice ...

_Will!_

She turned to cast a beaming look at Jack, whose face also broke into a huge grin as he turned and shouted to the crew, "Full canvas!"

Barbossa glanced out toward the _Dutchman_, quickly cottoning to what was going on—what Jack had been doing, what his plan had been. "Aye! Full canvas!" he called out as well.

The crew exploded into activity, raising the sails to their full extent, while Barbossa spun the wheel, turning the _Pearl _so that she was approaching the _Endeavour _on a parallel course, on her port side. At the same time, they could see the _Dutchman _mirroring their manoeuvre, moving to flank the _Endeavour _on her starboard side ...

As they drew beside the _Endeavour_, Gibbs grew agitated. The sight of the great ship's guns, deployed and ready to blast them to Kingdom Come, was, to be sure, an unsettling sight, and enough to make even the most seasoned pirate's blood run cold.

"Cap'n!" Gibbs said tightly, his faded blue eyes wide with trepidation.

Jack, looking unconcerned, but with banked excitement smouldering in his black eyes, turned to him and calmly gave the order. "Fire!"

Gibbs turned and shouted the order to the crew. "Fire!!!"

... Just as Will, on the _Dutchman_, cried out the same order.

Back on the _Pearl_, the order was repeated, one after the other, by Barbossa and Elizabeth ...

The _Pearl_'s cannons blazed, echoed almost immediately by the _Dutchman_'s deadly guns ...

Elizabeth had a twinge—but only a small one—of conscience, thinking of all the soldiers and crew on that ship, who were also being made to pay the price of Beckett's perfidy. But, after all, they had chosen their fate, just as Beckett maintained that her late father had chosen his, thus earning his own death ... and, as Jack had pointed out to her, they had made their choice, and thus had to live—or die—with the consequences ...

As the sides of the _Endeavour _exploded with the impact of dozens of cannonballs, taking out rank after rank of her cannons, debris flying everywhere, she still failed to return the fire. Soon they could see men, clad in their blue uniform jackets, jumping over the rails, pitching themselves into the sea in the desperate hope for salvation ...

And a familiar, and hated, form stood frozen on the _Endeavour_'s quarterdeck, staring straight ahead, paralysed as he was faced with the first situation in which he was not completely and utterly in control, one he could not deal and manipulate to his own satisfaction ...

The _Pearl _and the _Dutchman _continued to rain destruction down on the _Endeavour_, attacking without quarter, pummeling her without mercy, until, at last, the great ship's powder magazine was breached, and a huge ball of flame blossomed from the very heart of her. A series of secondary explosions rippled, one after another, throughout the hold of the ship, until the entire vessel was afire, its hull irreparably, and mortally, compromised. As the top deck collapsed in on itself, and her sides burst outwards, the _Endeavour _slipped, quite rapidly, into the sea ...

And Cutler Beckett lay floating, dead, in the water ... his blue eyes fixed and staring unblinkingly at the sky, frozen in time, an East India Trading Company flag at his back, rippling upon the waves as if fluttering on a breeze, in an eerie, macabre echo of a self-aggrandising portrait that, even now, was riding to the bottom of the sea with the _Endeavour _...

No sooner had the _Endeavour_, the flagship of the EITC fleet, disappeared under the waves, did the rest of the armada, deprived of their commander, start changing their course, turning, moving away, retreating into the misty horizon ...

"They're turning away!" Marty cried, in triumph, and the ship erupted into jubilation! The air was filled with the raucous cries of victory, and a flurry of hats were thrown in the air.

Jack and Gibbs stood together on the quarterdeck, smiling in satisfaction, watching the fleet retreat, seeing the unfettered joy of the crew. On each of the other Pirate Lords' vessels, similar celebrations were breaking out.

On the ship mastered by Captain Teague, the venerable Keeper of the Code stood proudly at his wheel, took off his hat, and tossed it in the air, a smile creasing his craggy, leathery face—a smile directed at his son.

Back on the _Pearl_, Jack smiled to himself, his reaction mirroring Teague's, and said, "Mr. Gibbs!"

"Cap'n!"

Jack removed his prized leather tricorne from his head, and handed it to his First Mate. "You may throw my hat, if you like."

Gibbs' face split in a grin. "Aye-Aye, Cap'n!" He gave a celebratory cry of "Hooray!" and flung the hat high in the air, laughing lustily. The hat sailed, and dropped into the midst of the mass of dancing bodies on the main deck ...

"Now go and get it," Jack ordered. Gibbs turned to him, his laughter dissipating as he did a double-take, and saw that Jack was serious. Turning to squint into the writhing sea of humanity below him, he hastened off to locate the treasured hat ...

Once Gibbs was gone, Jack allowed the grin to return to his face, part relief and part contentment. Life, suddenly, was good—_very _good indeed for Captain Jack Sparrow! He was finally rid of two of the most malignant presences in his life—Davy Jones and Cutler Beckett, both happily, permanently, and incontrovertibly dead, never to darken his doorstep again. He felt positively buoyant as the oppressive weight of their combined influence was lifted from him. He may have lost his chance at immortality, but to see the smile on Lizzie's face as she rushed down the quarterdeck stairs to celebrate victory along with the crew, and to know that she was safe and well, was well worth the sacrifice ...

Eventually, Jack became aware of Barbossa standing at his elbow as they both looked down on the jubilant crew. Jack's dark eyes followed Elizabeth like a guiding star as she moved among them.

As his gaze followed Jack's, Barbossa sighed. "I expect her husband will be comin' for her soon ..."

Jack's smile dimmed a notch at the sound of Barbossa's voice, though the import of his words hadn't quite sunk in yet. "Husband?" he asked, distractedly, as he watched the lanky towheaded Ragetti make an obeisance to his King, bowing low, before grabbing her and leading her in a jaunty jig-step. Elizabeth tossed her head back and laughed in delight, and the corners of Jack's eyes crinkled as his grin widened.

"Aye. Young Turner." He chuckled to himself. "In the middle of the battle, swords and lead shot and bodies flyin' everywhere, they come to me, and ask me to marry 'em, right then, right there."

Jack's smile froze on his face as his blood ran cold. "And ... did you?"

"Aye. Hard it was, too, wot with all the ... interruptions. But they eventually made it through it, proper—sealed it with a kiss and everythin' ..."

Jack's smile withered and died, a numbness creeping through his body, to settle somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

"And now, they'll have just the one day together ... sunset to sunset ... and then ten years apart." Barbossa leered. "No doubt they'll want to initiate the … _ahem_ … marital relations as soon as they possibly can. No time to waste. It's the only honeymoon they'll ever have, after all ... and there's quite a lot a couple of besotted, hot-blooded youngsters can do in twenty-four hours!"

_Or in one single night ... _Jack thought. "Yes ... as would I, were I in William's place," he said, quietly, his voice empty of emotion. He had to admit to himself, with Will taking Jones' place on the _Dutchman_, and leaving Elizabeth behind perforce, that he in turn had half-expected to step into Will's place ... in Elizabeth's life, in her heart, and most especially in her bed.

But he knew that now to be a foolish fantasy. With the bond of marriage between the two, he knew that wasn't likely to happen. Elizabeth had made her choice, given her heart, and now they _all _had to live with the consequences of it.

"If you'll excuse me, Hector, I'm goin' to retire to me cabin and do a bit of _private _celebratin'."

"What ... yer not goin' to take yer turn with our illustrious King, the newly-minted Mrs. Turner?" He nodded down to the main deck, where the crew were cheering on Elizabeth, who was now wearing Jack's hat, and had pulled Gibbs in a lively dance which, some far removed corner of Jack's mind, thought might be a gavotte. Some of the crew had fetched their musical instruments, and now a fiddle and squeeze-box could be heard providing a lilting accompaniment to the dancers ...

Jack quirked a rather melancholy smile. "I've already had me turn with her, mate," he said, rather cryptically, his voice practically a whisper. _For the first ... and, it would appear, the last … time._

And then he turned and walked away, leaving Barbossa standing there, looking after him with a puzzled scowl on his face.

Jack started toward his cabin, then diverted his course, deciding that a quick visit to the hold—and the rum stores—was in order first, before confining himself to his cabin.

Yes … he felt he was going to need a _lot_ of rum, to do what needed to be done …

To say goodbye ...

* * *

_**A/N:** Take heart, Sparrabethers ... the story is not yet finished! One more chapter and an Epilogue, and the tale will be complete. _

_**Warning!:** The next chapter will contain just a bit more adult content, as well as some Willabeth moments, so fair warning is given for those who are bothered by such things._


	12. A Marriage, Consummated

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Well, here is the penultimate piece ... the last chapter, save for the upcoming epilogue, which will wrap up this little trilogy of stories that began with "Rum and Persuasion." _

_**Warning!** Rating for this chapter is **M** for sexual content, so beware, ye of a more sensitive nature!_

_Thank you again to everyone who took the time to leave reviews! I have you to thank (blame?) for my continuing to crank out these sordid tales! ;-)_

_I hope to have the Epilogue posted today as well (don't want to leave anyone hanging in suspense ... and remember, Sparrabethers ... it ain't over until the fat lady posts the Epilogue! So chins up! don't get discouraged!) :-)_

_Again, I'm not Disney, and therefore own no part of POTC (darn it!). Just playin' around with it a little bit ... no harm, no foul ..._

_Hope everyone has (or, considering the time zone in which you reside, had) a Happy Christmas, and that Father Christmas was kind to each and every one of you and brought you all your heart's desire!_

_Take care! Epilogue should be up shortly!_

_-- Cat_

* * *

**- Chapter 11 -  
A Marriage, Consummated**

The revelry aboard the _Black Pearl _was finally beginning to die down, and Elizabeth was at last able to catch her breath. She knew she probably shouldn't have encouraged such a level of familiarity with the crew, but she couldn't help it ... their celebratory mood was infectious, and considering she had never expected to live through this day, let alone defeat Beckett and his forces, could she be blamed for wanting to indulge in a little unabashed celebrating?

The party atmosphere also let her avoid facing certain things that she just didn't want to think about at present. About Will. About Jack. And about her future.

She looked up, her eyes automatically searching for Jack, wondering vaguely why he hadn't joined her and the crew in the revels—after all, they were mostly _his_ crew … _his_ mates, not hers. But he was nowhere to be seen. She only saw Barbossa standing up on the wheel deck, looking down upon the festivities with a slightly detached smirk on his face. He, at least, could play the intimidating and aloof pirate captain ... it was a role that came naturally to him. But not Jack. He should be down here, slapping the crew on the back and handing out congratulatory rum, with that wide, self-confident Jack Sparrow grin on his face, as if he had known all along that victory would be theirs …

She climbed the stairs to the wheel deck, and Barbossa turned to her as she approached.

"Congratulations, Yer Highness," he said, and though there was a smile on his face there was a slight sneer in his voice, "on yer glorious victory. It does appear that, no matter what convoluted motives actually spurred him on, Jack indeed made the right decision in votin' ye King."

"Thank you," she said, with an ironic smile. She knew that was the closest thing to an apology she was likely to get from Barbossa for his act of insubordination upon their return from the Parlay. Then her eyes and face hardened to stone. "But if you ever defy your King and Commander's authority again and pull another stunt like you did when you freed Calypso, I'll have your head ... on a fine sterling silver platter, with a shiny green apple stuck in your mouth!" His eyes widened a bit, and he appeared to be momentarily taken aback by her vehemence, and by the sharkish smile she levelled at him. "Savvy?"

The condescension left his manner as he said, chastened but still managing to sound cocky, "Aye. I will take that to heart." Then added, almost as an afterthought, "My Liege."

"Speaking of Jack ... where is he?"

Barbossa displayed his stained teeth again in a supercilious smile. "He's off in his cabin, drinkin' a private toast to yer marriage ... _Mrs _Turner."

_Oh, bugger! _she thought as her heart sank and her face fell. _He didn't …?_ She had wanted to be the one to break that particular bit of delicate news to Jack …

But looking at Barbossa's smug grin, looking all too much like the cat who had eaten the canary, Elizabeth thought again, _Oh, yes … he most certainly did!_

* * *

Sequestering himself in his cabin, Jack slowly and systematically worked toward the goal of getting himself good and drunk. While he did so, he had ample time for reflection. For contemplation. For self-recrimination and a good, old wallow in the trough of self-pity.

He inwardly cursed himself. Once again, he had done the noble thing—been a _good man_—and had been rewarded with nothing but pain and punishment. Unrepentant sinner that he was, Jack could understand, at least in concept, having to do penance for his innumerable _wicked_ deeds. But why was he forever being made to pay for his _good_ ones? It hardly seemed fair …

He pondered the list of his past, unpirate-like actions, and what they had earned him:

He freed a shipload of slaves … and got branded a pirate.

He dealt with Barbossa and the _Pearl_'s crew honestly and fairly … and found himself mutinied upon, marooned, and his ship taken from him.

He saved Elizabeth from drowning … and ended up thrown in gaol.

He helped free the _Pearl'_s crew from a dreadful curse (never mind he also had somewhat selfish and vengeful reasons for doing so) … and was captured and nearly hanged.

He came back to the _Pearl_ to help save Elizabeth, Will, and the crew from the Kraken … and was chained to a mast and sent to the hellish depths of Davy Jones' Locker for his troubles.

And, now, not only had he sacrificed his one shot at immortality, it appeared that, by saving her new husband—in the only way fate and circumstances had decreed possible—rather than letting Will die impaled to the deck of the _Dutchman _by his own masterfully-crafted sword_, _he may have also sacrificed any chance he had to be with the woman who—despite her misdeeds, or perhaps _because _of them—he had come to love …

_Yes_, he finally admitted to himself, with grim certainty. _Love … _Though he had fought it, denied it, pushed it away with both hands, even tried to kill it by burying it under smothering layers of hatred, mistrust, and blinding rage toward Elizabeth—not to mention enough rum to drown a shipload of pirates—it had nevertheless treacherously insinuated itself past his carefully-maintained defences and taken up residence in his heart, like a long-time stowaway in the hold, only now discovered ...

Oh, he had _wanted_ her from the very first—that was undeniable. In that, she was no different than any other comely wench who happened to move into his orbit and catch his eye, that started the wheels turning in his mind as to exactly what and how long it would take to get said wench alone with him, naked, and in his bed (or any other relatively secluded spot suitable for a liaison). She was young, yes, but he had had younger, though not quite so chaste.

But he wondered at exactly what point _want_ had turned into _love_. Had the seeds of his downfall been planted, like a slow-growing cancer gradually eating away at him, from the moment his eyes had first met hers on the docks of Port Royal, or, later, when she was squirming so delightfully in his arms replacing his "effects", those eyes hot with anger? Or on the rum-runner's island, singing and dancing round the bonfire even as reflected fire danced in her eyes? Or that one stolen night in the groundskeeper's cottage, when he kissed her and touched her and made her eyes burn with awakened desire? Or on the docks of Tortuga, with her so charmingly disguised as a boy, those eyes challenging him, doubting him, then ultimately trusting him? Or had it been on the deck of the soon-to-be abandoned _Pearl_, when those treacherous eyes had beguiled him, bewitched him, bespelled him as she bestowed upon him her intoxicating Judas kiss, then glittered with icy determination as she snapped the shackle around his wrist?

All his life, Jack had studiously avoided romantic attachments, and most especially that mortal threat to freedom ... _love_. Love only led to complications, of which Jack had a-plenty in his life already. And he had considerable difficulty looking after his _own _well-being, let alone being responsible for that of another ... of a _loved one_.

Certainly, he had had affection, infatuation, had at rare times even convinced himself he was in love with a woman. For a night, or possibly for a week, he might stay, and sate his obsession in a pair of beautiful eyes, delectably sweet lips, and the encompassing warmth of a woman's soft, welcoming flesh, before the siren song of the sea called him again, and he left with the tide as yet another lovely face all-too-quickly faded from his peripatetic memory, joining the ranks of the other faceless ghosts in his mind as he lost himself in another adventure, moving forward, moving onward, ever moving ...

Running away, always running ...

Jack found himself gloomily pondering the very nature of love. Love—both a wellspring of strength and a harbinger of weakness, the ultimate double-edged sword; it had the potential to give exquisite joy, but also to inflict the most unbearable pain. It was one of life's cruellest ironies that that which could bring the most delight to one's life had the capacity to utterly destroy it as well.

Though Jack could never lay claim to being _completely _happy with his life—true happiness was something that had always seemed to elude him, an illusive mirage hovering just outside his grasp, to be pursued but never caught—he _had_ at least, most of the time, been able to achieve a certain level of _contentment_ with it. There indeed were times—with his _Pearl_ rocking gently beneath him, the endless wide green ocean below her, the hold under his feet brimming with pirate swag and rum, and his crew … and himself, for that matter … quite thoroughly and pleasantly drunk—when he thought life couldn't be any better. He had learned to be satisfied with that.

Now, he found he was no longer satisfied with mere contentment. He had developed a hunger for _happiness_—for _love_—as well.

All embodied in one person, a former governor's daughter, now turned Pirate King ...

_Bugger!_

He had consumed the first bottle of rum and was well on his way through a second, when there came a soft knock on the door.

He sighed, already knowing who it would be.

"Come in, 'Lizbeth," he called out.

The door eased open and Elizabeth stuck her head in. "Jack? May I speak with you a moment, please?"

With a graceful, and slightly tipsy, wave of his hand, he motioned her in.

"I … I just wanted to let you know –"

"That you'll be leavin' us soon ... _Mrs Turner_."

She flinched at his words, and looked down at the floor, somewhat dismayed. "Oh ... you know, then."

"Yes ... Hector told me all about your impromptu wedding."

She sighed regretfully. "I really wish he hadn't. I would have preferred to tell you myself, in my own way ..."

"And what way is that, Elizabeth?" he said, a hint of bitterness riding the coattails of his sardonic tone. "Another kiss, and then chain me to the mast so I don't run after you?"

"Jack," she said, sadly. "Please understand. It wasn't anything that I _planned _to do, but when the opportunity arose, and Will asked me to marry him, then and there ..."

"You seized the opportune moment," Jack said, with a trace of icy irony.

Elizabeth gave a small shrug. "I've always felt that Will and I were, somehow, fated to be together, ever since the day he and I met. Why, even _you _seemed to recognise that. You said yourself ... even when _I_ had given up hope of Will and I being together ... that I would end up with Will, given the chance. In fact, as recently as last night, you seemed to _want_ me to choose him, to push me toward him …"

He wanted to tell her, _Aye, but that was only because I thought _I_ wouldn't be there for you, and didn't want you to be alone …_

But all he _did_ say was, "That's the problem then, Lizzie. We planned for what would happen should one or both of us _not_ survive the battle. But we never thought beyond that … we never planned for what would happen to us, _between _us, if we lived past today …"

Then he added, with a little, infuriatingly masculine smirk, "However, your devotion to Will notwithstanding, I might point out, luv ..." His voice lowered, deepened, insinuatingly seductive, "It's not _William's_ name that you've been whisperin' in your sleep. And it certainly wasn't bloody William's name you were cryin' out last night, when you were in me bed, happily, and dare I say, quite enthusiastically givin' up your maidenhead to me."

Her face turned bright red, though Jack couldn't be sure if it was from embarrassment, or anger, or perhaps a combination of the two ...

"And speakin' of, darlin' ..." he said, somewhat snarkily, "how're ye gonna explain to Will the fact that you no longer _have _a maidenhead for him to take, eh? He's bound to notice a thing like that ... unless he's so _astoundingly _uninformed about the female creature that he doesn't even _know _about such things ..." At the guilty and contemplative look on her face, he continued, "Or ... I s'pose you could always blame it on Sao Feng, seein' that he's no longer alive to contradict ye and defend his dubious honour and his long-lost innocence. And wouldn't that just make William your slave for life, thinkin' you made the ultimate sacrifice to save him and the crew from that little pickle his inept plottin' got us all into?"

She glared daggers at him with eyes like molten copper. "I could never do that to Will ..."

"Wot?" he scoffed, "Lie to him? Deceive him? Seems to me you've gotten quite good at that, haven't ye, when it serves your own ends?" He grinned nastily. "Very _pirate _of ye, darlin'."

For a while her eyes blazed at him. Then the fire gradually faded from them, her gaze softening. "Jack ... please know, I never meant to hurt you. We never made any promises to one another, except to enjoy each other last night." The corner of her mouth curled slightly. "After all, it's not as though we _love _each other ..." Something flickered through her eyes, an expression Jack couldn't quite interpret.

He sighed, and though his heart cried out for him to speak up, to contradict her, to declare his love for her, he put on his shuttered, card-player's face, and said, in a voice as devoid of emotion as his bland expression, "No, I s'pose it's not." Of all the things they'd said to one another, of all the experiences they'd shared, she'd never really _said _she loved him. The _only _person she'd _ever_ declared love for was William. Then he allowed a half-smile, his eyes warming just a tad as he said, "But we _did _enjoy each other, didn't we?"

She also crooked a small, secretive grin. "Yes. I have to admit the truth of that—at least, I know _I_ enjoyed myself, more than I would have thought or expected ..."

His smile widened, glinting wickedly. "... or more than is considered proper for a well-born English lady, I wager." His gaze dropped as his smile faded a notch, and he toyed with the rum bottle distractedly for a moment. Then his eyes rose to meet hers, his tone gentle as he asked, "Lizzie, tell me, honestly—do you regret what we did?"

She looked down. "No … not regret, exactly." She smiled to herself. "How _can_ I regret it, when it was what we _both_ wanted?" His eyes sharpened as he recognised the words he had once said to her, that night in Port Royal. "I only regret the circumstances that forced the issue, that threw us together and into one another's arms. I would like to have known, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my decision for us to make love was entirely due to my feelings for you, solely because of my desire to be with you, rather than a last chance to …" Incredibly, after what they had been through, what they had done the night before, repeatedly, she was still able to blush, "Well … you know."

"Let me rephrase the question, then," Jack said, standing, approaching her on legs slightly more wobbly than usual, due to his alcohol consumption. "Would you do it again, given the chance?"

He saw her throat work as she swallowed nervously, noted her hesitation in answering. He came closer, until he was standing right before her, and she was staring down at his boots, refusing to meet his eyes.

She didn't move as he reached forward, lightly touching her cheek, letting his fingers trail across her soft skin before combing them through the silken strands of hair sweeping back from her temple. He noted that she closed her eyes and leaned slightly into his touch, turning her face into the palm of his hand.

_Interestin' ..._

As his hand moved to cup the back of her head, he leaned forward and let his lips graze where his fingers just had, up the arch of her cheek, then back down again.

She drew a shaky breath. "Jack ... please ...don't ... " she breathed, even as she turned her face so that her lips were a whisper away from his, parted and practically begging for his kiss.

He obliged, brushing his lips, just barely, against hers. "Don't what?" he asked, peering down into her face with heavy-lidded eyes, noting the lovely rosy-pink blush that was stealing across her cheeks. He placed a feather-light kiss upon her mouth, then another ...

"Don't do that ..." she softly pleaded, but nevertheless tilted her chin up to press her lips against his, a gentle tasting ...

"Do what?" he murmured, "This ...?" He tasted her in return, his lips gliding moistly against hers.

"Yes ... that," she replied, her warm breath mingling with his as their open mouths met again, by mutual accord.

"All right," he said, as his mouth lifted from hers. "How 'bout I do ... _this _instead?" He dropped his hands to her narrow waist, grasping it on either side, pulling her closer against him as his lips drifted down, to alight on her slender throat. Her flesh was flushed and warm against his lips, her skin tasted of sweat and dried seawater, and he couldn't resist a little lick and nibble ...

Elizabeth gasped, and he felt her breast heave against his chest, her hands coming up to grip his upper arms. She seemed to thaw, relaxing in his arms, her body melting against his as though her bones had turned to water. "Jack ..." she sighed, tremulously.

"What, luv?" he murmured against her, and she shivered as his lips brushed tantalisingly against her neck, his breath a humid gust against her sensitised skin.

"I _can't _..." she whispered, even as she lowered her head, nuzzling aside the collar of his shirt to press her lips against the place right above his collarbone, where sun-bronzed shoulder and muscular neck met ...

"Oh, yes you can ..." he argued on an exhaled breath, his brown fingers moving from her waist, up to where the gentle swells of her breasts pushed against the front of her tunic, swiping his fingertips back and forth across the cloth until he felt her nipples rise, hardening to little pebbles through her layers of clothing ...

"Rather ... I _shouldn't _..." she moaned as her mouth opened against his neck, her tongue pressing against his warm, salty flesh ...

He moaned then as well. "Sez who?" And, somehow, he had worked loose the top few fastenings of her over-tunic, and slipped his right hand inside, curling it around her left breast through her thin silk under-tunic.

"Says my marriage vows ..." Her knees went weak and she groaned as Jack lightly pinched her nipple through the silk, her hands tightening their grip on his upper arms almost painfully. His left arm slipped round her waist, his hand coming to a rest against her left buttock. He pulled her hips against his, against his hardness, and she gasped practically in his ear ...

"Which, technically, became null and void when William died on the deck of the _Dutchman _..."

Jack knew almost immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say as she stiffened in his arms, wished he could take the words back, un-say them. He felt her entire body tense under his hands. _Bugger! Jacky, why didn't you just keep your bloody mouth shut, and quit while you were ahead ...?_

She pulled away, gazing up at him with stricken eyes. "No. Not for me, they didn't." Extricating herself from his arms, she stepped back, and drew a deep breath, as though willing her body to ignore the feelings that Jack had brought alive with his touch.

"Lizzie ... I'm sorry ..." Jack said, reaching for her again, but she moved away, avoided his touch.

"I'm sorry too, Jack," she said as she redid the fastenings of her over-tunic.

And then she was gone, the door to the cabin banging behind her.

* * *

Elizabeth stood on the quarterdeck of the _Pearl_, gazing across at the _Flying Dutchman_, which had reappeared from its grisly mission collecting the souls of those who had been on the _Endeavour _and died either during the battle, or perished when she sank. The _Dutchman_ now ran a course parallel to the _Pearl_, keeping pace with her, as the two ships approached the isolated island where Will and Elizabeth were to have their honeymoon.

She could see Will leaning against the broken rail of the _Dutchman_'s wheel deck, looking longingly back at her. Her husband, now, at last ... but by a strange marriage rite she could never have conceived of when she had dreamed and planned of the lavish, perfect-to-the-last-detail ceremony that had nearly taken place a year ago in Port Royal—a ceremony befitting the daughter of the Governor of Jamaica.

The sun was sinking lower on the horizon, and with the setting of the sun, Will would be able to set foot on land, but for only twenty-four hours. During which time they would consummate their marriage. And then they would be separated for ten long years ...

_Ten years. _It seemed like an eternity to her. That was as long as she had known Will, since the day he was fished out of the wreckage-strewn sea ... what felt now like a lifetime ago. She wished that she could go away with Will, on the _Dutchman_, but knew that was impossible. Only the dead or the dying—or the immortal—could travel on the _Dutchman_, the reasons being twofold: any living, breathing person would drown, once the _Dutchman _vanished below the waves of the living world; and only the dead could go where the ghost-ship was bound ... to the lands of the dead, where pallid wraiths drifted below the waves and death-boats floated atop them, all to be safely led to their final, eternal destination by the _Flying Dutchman _and her dedicated captain ...

A figure stood beside Will on the _Dutchman_, and Elizabeth recognised him as Bootstrap, Will's father. She let a melancholy smile waft across her lips. If one good thing came from this entire situation, at least Will had been reunited with his father, and had freed him from a century of servitude to Davy Jones. No matter what the senior Turner decided to do—move on to the afterlife, or stay and serve on the _Dutchman_—at least it would be _his _choice to make, of his own free will, and not the result of some unholy pact.

She turned as Mister Gibbs came up the wheel deck stairs and leaned against the banister. "Yer chariot awaits, Yer Highness." He turned his head and waved his hand, indicating a boat that hung off the starboard side of the _Pearl_. She stared at the boat, numb with the realisation that this was it ... she was leaving. Leaving Jack and the _Pearl_. Leaving this crew who had fought side-by-side with her against Beckett's forces, to an unlikely victory. Leaving. Perhaps forever.

At her prolonged silence, Gibbs added, "The oars are inside."

Her eyes focused a moment on Gibbs, then, with an air of resignation, she descended the stairs to the main deck, where the crew was assembled, waiting to pay their respects and say their goodbyes to their King.

Why did she feel, suddenly, like a prisoner in the docks, going to her execution, rather than embarking on a new life?

First in the receiving line was Barbossa, with the ubiquitous monkey perched on his left shoulder. He inclined his head to her and said, in a tone of deep respect, "Mrs Turner." She smiled and gave him a slight nod, acknowledging the tribute, thinking that, despite the harsh words she had had for him earlier, she also had a lot for which to be grateful to him. He had served as her teacher in the arts of war and self-defence, and had it not been for the essential knowledge he had shared with her, and the intensive and extensive training she had had under his expert tutelage, she might not have survived their quest to save Jack, and all that followed. At the very least, she had been able to hold her own and defend _herself_, rather than be a liability to the crew—someone to be protected, a burden rather than an asset—and had proved her value in battle. He had also been the one to marry her and Will, finally bringing to completion a wedding that had been postponed for nigh on a year.

Next were the inseparable Pintel and Ragetti. Ragetti said nothing, only giving her a deferential bow and tug of the forelock. "Goodbye, Poppet," Pintel said, rather fondly, while she reflected on how strange it was, to be bidding fond farewells to the two men who had once been her kidnappers. Next were Murtogg and Mullroy, the newest members of the crew, newly defected from the Royal Navy. Then Marty, and the silent wizened Cotton (complete with parrot).

Last in line, leaning against the rail, staring down at the deck and pretending not to be affected at all by her leaving, was Jack.

_Jack._

She thought of that moment, earlier, in his cabin ... when he had asked if she regretted their making love. She had lowered her gaze, unable to maintain contact with those dark, compelling eyes, lest she, like the _Dutchman _into the maelstrom, get sucked into them again, forget her commitment to Will, throw herself into Jack's arms, as every cell in her body seemed to want her to do.

As it _still _wanted her to do, even now ...

She hated how things had been left between them ... Jack's callous comment about Will's death, and her reaction to it. It's not how she had wanted to leave things, not how she wanted to leave Jack ... not that she even _wanted _to leave Jack at all.

Even as she struggled to find the words to say farewell, she realised that she didn't really _want _to. The thought of never seeing Jack Sparrow again tugged at her heart, and stirred up such a mix of emotions inside her, it felt almost like a bereavement ... like watching him go down again with the _Pearl_. What could she say to him? To this man, this _pirate _who had been so many things to her, been such an important part of her life?

The dashing childhood hero whose stories thrilled her so ...

The gallant saviour who had rescued her (twice, now) from a watery death ...

The gentle lover who had taken her tenderly across the boundary from maiden to woman, taken her to the heights of rapture, and shown her what it meant to make love ...

This man that she now _knew _she _loved_.

He looked up as she came to stand before him, eyeing her with a touch of wariness in his dark eyes. And she wondered, vaguely, if this was killing him every bit as much as it was killing her ... to say goodbye ...

"Jack ..."

She was aware of the crew's eyes on her, watching her and Jack. There was so much she wanted to tell him, what she _should _have told him when they had their privacy. But she couldn't say it now ... perhaps she would _never _be able to say it ...

So the only thing that came to her was a joke, one Jack had said to her, the first time they had parted company, on the battlements of Fort Charles, after she and Will had rescued him from the gallows ... in another time, another life.

"It would never have worked out between us," she said, her face deadpan, attempting a light tone that, nevertheless, sounded a bit strained to her own ears.

Jack stared at her for a beat, then his lips curved into a gentle smile, his eyes warming. "Keep tellin' yourself that, darlin'," he quipped back, his voice low and almost intimate, with a wide grin and a twinkle in his eye.

Her heart lifted, and just like that, the air was cleared between them. She felt a smile stealing across her own face, then, on impulse, moved in to give him a kiss.

But he pulled back, holding his hands up as though fending her off. His eyes quickly darted down to the deck, avoiding hers, and she remembered, no matter how much she wanted Jack to hold her just then, to kiss her and say a proper goodbye, she—and he—had to exercise restraint in front of the crew. She was a married woman now, after all. He looked back up, into her eyes. "Once is quite enough," he said, lowly, waggling his fingers with a sardonic smile—an oblique reference to their _last _public kiss, on this very deck ...

Her eyes dropped to his chest as, with a trace of disappointment, she gave a terse smile in return. Looking back up into his eyes, she said, with a slight quaver in her voice, "Thank you." It was little enough, for all he had given her, and all she could say in front of the crew, but she knew Jack would know, and understand, _all _the things for which she was thanking him.

Then she was climbing down to the lowered boat, off to the island, to start her new life as Mrs William Turner, Junior ...

* * *

Jack leaned against the rail, lowered eyes fixed on the deck at his feet, studiously ignoring the goings-on taking place to his right. This was killing him ... having to say goodbye to her ... to watch her walk away, off of his ship, out of his life, likely forever. The rum hadn't done quite enough to numb that part of him that was dying a slow, agonising death at the thought of never seeing her again, never holding her in his arms, never tasting those sweet lips and feeling the warmth of her equally sweet flesh under his hands, under his mouth, under his body ...

Lost in his dark thoughts, he didn't notice her approach until, suddenly, she was there, standing right before him. He glanced up, schooling his features to mask the pain he felt, covering it with a veneer of cool wariness as he stared into those beautiful honeyed-brown eyes.

"Jack," she said, and paused, and for a moment he recalled that voice, saying his name, over and over, as they made love. Then he pushed the memory away, because to recall it was too much like prodding a raw wound ...

"It would never have worked out between us."

And it brought a smile to his face, to hear that phrase from her lips. Was it a lie for her, every much as it had been for him when he had said those same words to her, though he might not have known it at the time?

No ... it would have never worked out for him and the rather haughty Governor's daughter she had been then, still too firmly rooted in her father's world and the society life in which she had been raised, for all her chafing to be free of it. But between him and this woman that spoiled but spirited girl had become ... this _pirate_, his Lizzie, bold and brave and beautiful as she was that day on the doomed _Pearl_, hair wild and windblown and fire in her eyes ... now, _there _was a match! Unfortunately, one that would never, could never now, take place ...

Though his heart ached at his loss, he smiled. "Keep tellin' yourself that, darlin'."

He saw her smile, saw her eyes soften, and then she was moving in to kiss him ...

He threw his hands up and turned his face away, knowing that if he kissed her now, he wouldn't be able to stop ... wouldn't be able to let her leave ... would do anything within his power to hold her and keep her for himself, damn her marriage vows, and damn bloody Will Turner ...

When he looked up again, he saw the disappointment in her eyes. "Once is quite enough," he said, by way of explanation, waggling his fingers. She gave him a slight smile, understanding the reference, that he had said it more for the benefit of the eavesdropping crew than for her. Her deep amber eyes met and held his, speaking volumes to him as she said, in a low, somewhat tremulous voice, "Thank you."

Then she was gone, descending toward the little boat that bobbed on the waves gently washing against the _Pearl'_s hull, never looking back, not seeing the wistful look on Jack's face as he watched her go, like that day that the Kraken took him and the _Pearl _down to the Locker.

Watching her go, Jack resolved to rebuild the walls around his heart that she had breached. He never wanted another to reside there again.

"Mister Gibbs," he said, and his First Mate approached.

"Cap'n?"

"Watch until she's safely ashore ... then set a course, as we planned, for Tortuga."

"Aye, Cap'n!"

"With all due haste, if you please. I have a need for the company of salty wenches ... _many _salty wenches!"

Gibbs smiled, knowingly, though his faded eyes were somewhat sad. He didn't mention to Jack that, before preparing the rowboat, he had already made a promise to Elizabeth to watch her ashore, and also told her Jack's next planned destination. "By need, do you mean a trifling need ... fleeting, as in, say, a passing fancy?"

"No ... a resolute and unyielding need," Jack said firmly, with the ghost of a wicked smile. Perhaps, by burying himself—repeatedly—in the soft flesh of his favourite Tortuga doxies, he could begin to go about the business of forgetting Mrs Elizabeth Turner, and filling the gaping hole she had left in his heart ...

* * *

When she arrived at the island, Elizabeth got out of the boat, and pulled it up onto the sands, out of reach of the rising tide. While rowing, she had been giving a lot of thought about what was going to happen tonight ... and what she needed to tell Will.

She reached into the boat, and pulled out the little bundle of supplies that Gibbs was kind enough to prepare for her: foodstuffs, water, a thin blanket, a few pieces of flint for lighting a fire, even a bottle of rum. Gibbs had said they would watch until she had safely reached the island, before weighing anchor and setting off to their next destination: Tortuga. Apparently, Jack had no desire to go back to Shipwreck Cove, and risk having to face his fellow Pirate Lords (to whom he _still _owed money!) again. Barbossa had promised to get a message on her behalf to Tai Huang, requesting that he bring the _Empress _to fetch her back to Shipwreck Cove at sunset the next day.

Once again, Elizabeth watched as the _Black Pearl _sailed off, without her, taking Jack away with it. For one mad, impetuous moment, she wanted to jump up, wave the _Pearl _down, tell them to wait for her ... that she was coming back ...

But she was Will's wife now. She belonged to him. Not Jack. Never was Jack's in the first place.

She removed her sword, thrusting it into the sand, then went off to build a fire, as Jack had taught her to do that first night they were stranded on the rum-runner's island. The memory brought a smile to her face, and a melancholy ache to her heart. Had it been then, watching Jack drunkenly gambolling in the firelight, like an overgrown child, singing the pirate song that she had taught him, lying together on the sand as he made half-hearted attempts to seduce her, that she actually had started falling in love with him?

Once the fire had been set, she went down to the beach and sat down to wait for the sun to set, and for her husband's arrival.

As the sun dipped down on the horizon, meeting and merging with its shimmering fiery reflection as it was slowly swallowed by the sea, there was a flash of green, and then the _Dutchman _was suddenly there.

No sooner had the ship appeared, when she became aware of another's presence on the shore, having magically appeared without benefit of boat.

She watched as Will placed the Dead Man's Chest carefully down on the ground, then drew and thrust his sword into the sand beside hers, crossing hers, then strode across the beach, toward her. Her heart lurched to see him, so changed, yet still so much the same. The same Will she had known and loved for the past ten years ...

_Her husband._

As he came closer, he started to walk faster, his long legs traversing the distance quickly with his loping strides, then he was running toward her, and she rose from the sand just as he reached her and swept her into his arms in a crushing embrace, pulling her off her feet and swinging her around in a circle, until she was both breathless and dizzy ...

"God ... Elizabeth!" he whispered into her shoulder as he held her, then placed her back on her feet.

She looked up into his face, into eyes that once danced with boyish delight, now shaded with darkness and a new maturity. Wonderingly, her fingers traced his features, even as they had done mere hours ago, when that face had been slick with rain, his life quickly slipping away along with the blood pumping out onto the deck of the _Dutchman _...

"Oh, Will ... I never thought I'd see you again!" She flung her arms around him, and pressed her cheek to the bare patch of chest revealed by the "V" of his open-necked shirt: a chest whose tanned, smoothly-muscled perfection was now marred by a jagged red scar over his heart ... or, rather, where his heart used to be, she reminded herself, as the chest beneath her ear was now unnaturally silent and still ...

... still as death ...

She pulled away, and turned her eyes to Will's chest, her slim fingers moving to push aside his shirt, brushing against the livid slash half-hidden by the linen.

"My God, Will ... does it hurt?"

He captured her exploring hand, and raised it to his lips, kissing it before replying, "No, darling. Not at all."

"Did it hurt when ... when Bootstrap ..."

"When my father cut my heart out?" he said dryly, but with a gentle smile. "No. Luckily, by that point I was well past feeling anything ... dead to the world, actually ..."

Elizabeth cast him a horrified look. "Will ... that's not funny!"

He shrugged. "I wasn't trying to be humorous ... only truthful." He grabbed both her hands, bringing them to his mouth for a kiss across her newly battle-scarred knuckles, then started pulling her toward the ring of stones, where Elizabeth had built her small fire, pausing to snag the blanket on the way ...

_Truthful._

That reminded her ...

"Will … we need to talk …"

He stooped to lay out the blanket, next to the fire, and now came to her. "No—no talking," he said as he pulled her to him, impatiently, almost desperately, his hand tangling in the golden waterfall of her hair. "Plenty of time for talk—_later_."

And then his lips were on hers, his mouth devouring hers hungrily, swallowing her words of protest, his trembling fingers frantically working at the closure of her over-tunic, burning to touch the soft flesh he had, out of honour, out of propriety, denied himself since their betrothal, and which he had dreamt about, for years before then …

Twenty-four hours were all they had … to fit nearly ten years of longing looks, youthful wishes, hopes and dreams, and denied passion. And he didn't want to waste a minute of that time … at least, not with talking … not when their mouths could be busy doing _other_ things …

"Will ..." she tried again, but once more she was stifled by his mouth on hers, and when his tongue slid between her lips to mate with her own, all other thoughts flew right out of her head, swept away by the tide of desire that suddenly seized her body. She felt Will slip the over-tunic from her shoulders, and it fell at her feet onto the sands, leaving her upper body clad in nothing but her thin silk under-tunic. And then he started working to divest her of that as well ...

And then her hands were working, too, to rid her new husband of his own clothing, wandering over his newly-exposed body like an explorer discovering, mapping new lands ... doing the things she had longed to do with her fiance, but was thwarted by Will's insistence that they wait until their wedding night.

_Tonight. Tonight is our wedding night_, she thought, giddily.

She felt Will's hands alight on her now-bared breasts, cupping them, kneading them gently with his strong, warm fingers. "Oh, Elizabeth ..." he nearly moaned, his voice hoarse with passion, "how many times I've dreamt about touching you, just like this ... it was agony, making myself wait for this ... wait for _you _..."

"And I've often dreamt of you touching me like this, wishing that you weren't so restrained ... that you _wouldn't _wait ..." she confessed, feeling her face heat in a blush at the admission.

"Well, there's nothing restraining us now, is there?" he said, his voice lowering huskily. He sat down on a large rock and bent to pull off his tall boots and stockings, even as Elizabeth paused to do the same, along with her trousers. Once rid of his boots, he undid his breeches and let them slide down to his ankles, then stepped out of them, leaving him gloriously naked to Elizabeth's eyes.

As she was to his ...

He came to her, taking both her hands in his, drawing her toward the fire, pulling her down with him as he lowered himself to the spread-out blanket ...

And then she was on her back on the blanket, the golden firelight dancing over both their naked forms, and Will was leaning over her, his hands and mouth moving reverently, worshipfully across her body, kissing, caressing, finally satisfying his long-held curiosity about the difference between men's and women's bodies ...

As his hands and mouth continued to explore, to tease, Elizabeth's frustration grew along with her desire, the sweet burning ache building between her legs, so far remaining unsatisfied. She tried to remind herself that this was Will's first time, that he didn't know how to arouse a woman, didn't know all the things that could be done to satisfy her ... not like Jack ...

A sense-memory came back to her ... of Jack, between her legs, bringing her to the summit of pleasure with nothing but his mouth ...

She quickly banished that thought. Will was not Jack. Will was _not _Jack!

And then she felt hands on her thighs ... Will's hands, not Jack's, gently spreading her legs. Kneeling between them. Reaching forth to prod her sex with his fingers, searching for the place he had never known, never been, never touched, but knew with every fibre of his being he was supposed to be ...

During his exploration he accidentally brushed her nub with his fingers, and she hissed as an unexpected wave of pleasure rippled through her ...

He eventually found her moist channel, his finger slipping in an inch or two before withdrawing again, and then he was placing himself there, and she felt the tip of him embed itself just inside her entrance.

And then he _pushed _...

* * *

When he slid into her, and was met with no resistance, something in the back of Will's mind registered the significance of this fact … what it meant … but at the moment he didn't care as he was gradually engulfed in her moist heat, the banked passion of all the years of loving her, wanting her, _adoring _her flaring to a fever pitch, flooding his body with a delicious agony of need, the need to quench that conflagration in the warm, welcoming wetness of her body.

Driven not by experience, but by instinct, his body started moving against hers, his hips drawing back, then surging forward again, filling her, taking her, _possessing _her. His beautiful Elizabeth, whom he had almost lost, her body warm and pliant beneath his, her arms encircling his back, the soft sounds of her heightened breath and her gentle moans spurring him onward ...

_Elizabeth ... my Elizabeth ... my wife ... my lover ... my love ..._

He struggled to be gentle, to maintain some measure of self-control, even as his body was urging him to take her faster, harder. But the years of self-denial had taken their toll. He wanted _this _... wanted _her _so much, for so damnably long ...

There was a slow fire building within him, a pressure gathering in his groin, and now Elizabeth wrapped her legs around him, rising to meet him, pulling him down to her, her lips meeting his rapturously, as his thrusts became shorter, faster ...

And then she was quaking beneath him, her head dropping away from his as her mouth went slack and her eyes screwed shut, her face transformed in a paroxysm of joy as her fingers dug into the hard flesh of his muscled back. He was transfixed by the sight of her, so totally lost in pleasure ... pleasure that _he _had given her!

Then the building heat in his belly exploded in a starburst of ecstasy, and he stilled as his own body shook with its release. As his blood rushed in his ears, propelled through his veins somehow despite his absence of a beating heart, he was dimly aware of Elizabeth's soft cries, just before they collapsed together, totally spent, on the now-rumpled blanket ...

* * *

When it was all over, and they lay in each others' arms, regaining their lost breath, Elizabeth said again, "Will ... We really _do_ need to talk …"

Will sighed, holding her even more tightly. There _were _certain things they had to discuss, like her absence of a maidenhead, and who had laid claim to it first … though he knew with a terrible certainty _who _it was, the only person it possibly _could_ have been.

"Yes," he said softly, pushing the dark-gold strands of sweat-dampened hair out of her face, tenderly, "I think we had better …"

* * *

_**A/N:** Epilogue coming up shortly! So, please, Sparrabethers, don't throw tomatoes yet! :-) All will be resolved in the Epilogue ..._


	13. Epilogue

**Penance  
**by Luvvycat

**

* * *

**_**Author's Note:** Well, we're finally at the end of our tale. Please feel free to post a review and let me know what you think. Did you hate it/love it? Did I satisfy, disappoint, please or displease? Should I just pack it all in and give up writing altogether, and not give up my day job? ;-)_

_All previous Disney disclaimers pertain to this segment as well. 'Nuff said!_

_I have a short, companion story 95% complete, which I hope to post soon, regarding the silver sparrow ring that Jack leaves for Lizzie at the end of "Rum and Persuasion." Hope you'll all "tune in" for that one as well._

_Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed previous chapters! Please know that your comments are much appreciated, cherished and treasured ... _

_But enough of my yakkin'. Let's boogie ... :-)_

_-- Cat  
(with apologies for the gratuitous_ This is Spinal Tap _quote, above ...)_**

* * *

**

**- Epilogue -**

_"Jack!"_

He was dreaming again. Dreaming of his one night with Elizabeth, him buried deep within her, her musical voice crying out his name as he moved above her, and she shuddered beneath him.

_"Jack!"_

"Lizzie!" he whispered in his sleep, feeling the phantom satin of her skin beneath his fingers, the moist silk of her lips caressing his ...

_"Jack! Wake up!"_

"Mmmm?" he moaned, reluctantly abandoning the seductive pull of the dream, opening his eyes to darkness, and a gentle rocking motion.

"Jack?" the voice called again. _Her_ voice.

He pushed back the tricorne hat shading his eyes, squinting up at the harsh sun, and at the dark hull of the ship looming next to his dinghy.

"Jack!"

His eyes tracked upward, where a face peered over the rail above him, temporarily eclipsing the sun behind her, its golden light limning her blonde head with a halo of fire, casting her face into shadow. He squinted up at her, recognising the features that went with that familiar voice ...

_Her _face.

"Lizzie?" he questioned. Perhaps he had been transported back to the Locker, and this was just another mad illusion ...

He saw a smile light her face, bright as the sun at her back. "Yes, it's me. But the more pressing question is, why are you here, in a dinghy, floating in the middle of the ocean? Where is the _Pearl_?"

Jack sat up, with a groan, and stretched to ease the crick in his back. The dinghy may have been (barely) serviceable as transport, but as a bed, it left a lot to be desired ...

"Unfortunately, it's been commandeered ... again."

After a beat, Elizabeth's fine eyebrows rose. "Barbossa?"

Jack nodded. "Aye. We stopped off in Tortuga, as planned, to restock on supplies and to ... er ... avail ourselves of the local services and amenities, and when I returned to the ship the next mornin', I only found this dinghy in its place—and the _Pearl _nothin' but a dwindlin' black silhouette against the horizon."

"Oh, Jack ... I'm so sorry. I know what you went through for that ship."

"No worries, darlin'. I'll get 'er back again ... eventually," he said, with typical Jack Sparrow certainty.

At Elizabeth's motion, the crew lowered a rope ladder down the side of the ship, which Jack now recognised as the _Empress_. Once Jack was aboard, with the various personal effects he retrieved from the dinghy, she instructed the crew to hoist the little boat up onto the deck.

"And where are _you _off to, luv?" he asked. "Or do ye have your own magical compass that led you back to me?" he quipped, only half-joking.

She looked at him in exasperation. "You wish! Actually, we're on our way to Port Royal, to claim those goods my father and I had to leave behind ..."

Jack's face reflected surprise. "Ain't that a bit risky, seein' that you're still a wanted woman? What's in Port Royal worth riskin' your life, goin' back for?"

She smiled, a bit secretively. "There are certain items, of a highly personal nature and great sentimental value to me, that I want to get back. I didn't have a chance to claim them before I hopped the _Edinburgh Trader _and escaped. I figured we'd make a brief side-trip to Tortuga first. I'd leave the _Empress_, Tai Huang and most of the Singapore crew, there, so they can effect repairs—she's still sporting the holes the _Flying Dutchman_ blasted in her sides. In the meantime, I can hire a smaller, less distinctive-looking ship to take on to Port Royal, as well as a handful of new crew. You'll have to admit, an exotic ship like the _Empress _is bound to attract unwanted attention, particularly if anyone recognises it as having been one of the pirate ships attendant at the recent battle at Shipwreck Cove."

Jack nodded in approval. "Good thinkin'. And as long as we're goin' to Tortuga, we can stop by and pick up Gibbs. I had to leave him there when the _Pearl _was taken, again, by Barbossa ... yon dinghy only havin' barely room enough for one."

Elizabeth's face brightened. "Excellent! I was wondering how we'd manage to avoid scrutiny in Port Royal, what with a female captain and a shipload of mostly Asian pirates. Do you think Gibbs would be up to masquerading as an English merchant trader, to help me reclaim my possessions?"

Jack crooked a golden smile. "Darlin', I believe he'd be more 'n willin' to do so. For some unknown and inexplicable reason, he harbours a great fondness for you. It wouldn't take much at all to persuade him to your cause."

* * *

Once they had arrived in Tortuga, Jack and Elizabeth—dressed again in mannish attire of breeches, waistcoat, and frock coat, her blonde hair pulled back in a queue—made arrangements for another ship and a berth for the _Empress _in the repair docks. Then she and Jack went on into the town, searching for Gibbs.

He wasn't hard to find. In fact, he turned up in the first tavern they stopped at—Jack's favourite: _The Faithful Bride_.

Gibbs broke into a wide grin as he looked up from his secluded corner table, and spied Jack and Elizabeth. "Well, ain't you two a sight fer sore eyes!" he enthused. His faded blue eyes widened as they alit on Jack. "Don't tell me you've gotten the _Pearl _back already ...?"

Jack frowned. "No. But as Barbossa and I are after the same prize, it's inevitable that our paths will cross again, and fairly soon, I'd wager ..."

"So, what brings ye back to Tortuga?" Gibbs asked.

"Actually ... you," Elizabeth smiled. "Among other things."

Gibbs looked puzzled, his bushy eyebrows rising in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes. We need to enlist your aid in a little venture I'm undertaking, to reclaim my father's and my possessions from Port Royal."

"And how do I fit into this venture of yor'n?" he asked.

"Well, Gibbs ... no insult intended ... but Lizzie here thinks you're the most un-pirate lookin' of our lot, and thought you'd pass quite nicely as a merchant seaman, come to claim her family's goods ..."

Gibbs stroked his greying mutton chops thoughtfully. "Ah! And she can't very well go 'erself due to the death sentence still hangin' over 'er head?"

"Precisely!" Elizabeth smiled. "We're leaving the _Empress _here for repairs, and have hired another ship that we'll take on to Port Royal. And, if you agree, you'll be her captain—at least, once we come into the sights of Jamaica."

"Well, count me in!" Gibbs said, heartily. "Glad to be of help to ye!"

Together, the three of them made their way back to the docks ...

* * *

Jack, Elizabeth, and Gibbs walked the deck of their hired ship—a small, nondescript, fairly ancient caravel called the _English Rose_—inspecting her. Though about a third of the size and not as distinctive as either the _Black Pearl _or the _Empress_, they considered that a good thing. It wouldn't take much "new" crew to man her, and her hold was plenty large enough to accommodate the things Elizabeth intended to fetch back from Port Royal.

Though Jack sneered at bit at what he deemed to be a far inferior vessel, Gibbs was a little more kindly in his assessment. "I expect she'll do nicely. She certainly won't attract any unwanted attention," he said, rather diplomatically. "But how're we to clear port customs? Surely, we'll be needin' some sort of official documentation ..."

Elizabeth waved her hand. "All taken care of. Before leaving Shipwreck Cove, we enlisted the services of a quite adept forger." She reached into the inner pocket of her frock coat, and pulled forth a folded bit of paper. "This document gives authorisation for you to act on behalf of the surviving Swann Family of England to collect and transport those items that once belonged to Royal Governor Weatherby Swann and his fugitive daughter, Elizabeth."

He and Jack both looked over the paper with a discerning eye, and declared it to be a quite excellent forgery.

Then Gibbs seemed to recollect something. "Oh ... I nearly fergot!" Gibbs reached into his shirt, and pulled forth a folded sheaf of papers, held closed by a blob of blood-red sealing wax. "This was left for you with the innkeeper of _The Faithful Bride_. He knew me to be yer first mate, so entrusted it to my care to deliver it to you. It was left with him by the lone survivor of a recent shipwreck ... a man who claimed that none other than the captain of the _Flying Dutchman _had given it to him, and bade him to deliver it here, in return for sparing his life."

Jack and Elizabeth exchanged a startled glance, then Jack took the letters gingerly, between his right thumb and forefinger, as though they might burn him, while Elizabeth looked over his shoulder with wide eyes. Emblazoned on the front of the packet were the words:

_Captain Jack Sparrow  
__in care of The Faithful Bride  
__Tortuga_

Jack cast a glance over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, and saw Elizabeth nod. "Yes ... that looks like Will's handwriting."

Drawing his knife, Jack slipped it under the seal, breaking it ...

Before he could open it and begin reading it, however, Elizabeth came out from behind him and grabbed his arm, looking up into his eyes with a wide, guilty gaze. "Jack ...." she began, her tongue nervously wetting her lips as her eyes flicked down to the letters in his hand, then back up to his face. "Before you read that letter, I have something to confess ..." She stopped, as though reluctant to go on.

Jack tilted his chin up so that he was peering down his nose at her. "Yes, luv ... I'm listenin'."

"Before Will and I parted that day ... the day of our honeymoon ... I ..." She dropped her eyes again, uneasily. "I'm afraid I did a very unpirate-like thing." She slanted a sheepish glance up at him. "I ... I told Will the complete truth ..."

Jack's eyes regarded her suspiciously, repeating in a voice devoid of inflection. "The complete truth?"

She nodded. "About you ... about us ... about what happened between us ..."

Apprehension crept into Jack's eyes, and he glanced down at the letters in alarm, as though they might turn on him and bite him. "You mean ... you confessed ... _everythin'_?" he croaked, his throat having gone dry.

She nodded again. "Yes ... everything. About that night on the _Pearl _..."

Jack closed his eyes, slowly, as if in pain. That's all he needed: to incur the eternal wrath of the immortal captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. Would he now have to constantly be looking over his shoulder, as he had with Davy Jones, expecting to hear the ring of a sword being drawn, a harsh voice calling his name, the feel of cold steel against his throat or piercing his heart?

He opened them again when Elizabeth placed her hand on his chest, right above said heart, which was beating a panicked tattoo against her palm ...

"I'm sorry, Jack ... but I couldn't keep lying to him. I owed him the truth, and ... well ..." she lowered her voice, intimately, so Gibbs wouldn't overhear, "... when he and I made love for the first time, and he realised I had already lost my maidenhead ..."

Jack actually groaned, imagining Will's reaction to that discovery, knowing his goose was well and truly cooked now ...

Sighing, he reluctantly opened the letter, dropped his eyes to the scrawling script filling the pages, and began reading:

_

* * *

_

Jack –

_I hope this letter finds you well. At least, since I've not yet had cause to avail you of my services as ferryman to the dead, I trust you still remain, happily, among the living._

_I am writing you to enlist your assistance in important matters that concern you, me, and my new bride, with whom I understand you are already rather intimately well-acquainted. _

_Before we parted company to embark on our decade's separation, my wife confided in me certain facts regarding her feelings towards me ... and towards you. At that time, she also confessed certain events of an intimate nature that had already occurred between the two of you on the eve of the last battle. _

_Though I am unhappy that you took it upon yourself to usurp my right as fiancé, husband, and lover by being the first to claim her maidenhead—and I will ever damn you, and to a lesser extent her, for that fact—Elizabeth has made me understand that such prurient activities were undertaken at her instigation—or, at the very least, by enthusiastic mutual agreement between you and her, and in a climate of certain extenuating circumstances that led her to believe that a) our relationship had deteriorated to the point where she and I would never be together as man and wife, and b) she would likely not survive the ensuing battle, and thus would be denied certain experiences a woman might expect from a long, full life. I am fairly certain, however, that it required very little effort on her part to convince you to take full advantage of the opportunity to enjoy my now-wife's bounteous charms, as I've suspected for some time that there has been an ongoing flirtation, and perhaps more, between the two of you._

_I also know that Elizabeth is not the type of woman who would give her body without first having given her heart ... and once she gives her heart, it is forever and always. She may not have said it in so many words, but she _does _love you, Jack. I have seen and recognised it for a while now—perhaps even before she did. But she has been afraid to say so, due to a conversation you and she had in the past, where you likened love and marriage to an odious shackle, and one to which you would never choose to yield, for risk of losing your precious freedom._

_Though it would be an easy thing to succumb to jealousy and hold her in strict obedience to her marriage vows, I know how unfair, and supremely selfish, it would be for me to do so. Considering that my jealousy of you contributed to the misery Elizabeth and I suffered over this past year, and my resulting emotional withdrawal from her very nearly led to our permanent estrangement, I have learned that nothing good can come of it. Also, as you told me, that night on the _Pearl _when you confided in me your plan to take my place in stabbing the heart—thus allowing me and Elizabeth to be together without my having to take Jones' place for eternity: death has a way of reshuffling a man's priorities. And my priority now is not to have exclusive ownership of Elizabeth's heart and affections, but rather that Elizabeth be happy, by whatever definition she would assign that term, and with whomever she would choose to share that happiness. She has a generous and capacious heart, with more than enough room for two to reside there; indeed, she has assured me that the fact that she loves you does not mean that she loves me any less, and her affection for me remains undiminished. _

_I think, at least on one point you and I can agree: Elizabeth's happiness needs to be our primary concern. Above all else, I want her to have a full and fulfilling life, by whatever means she determines that desire can be achieved. Thanks to you, I now have eternity stretching before me, but her time on this world is finite, and I don't want her to waste it pining for me, or for things that can never be. It is not my intent that she live an isolated, lonely and chaste existence, cloistered like a nun, bereft of companionship, until my return in ten years' time (or, at the moment I write this letter, nine years, eleven months, three weeks, two days, fourteen hours, and twenty-five minutes hence). Knowing Elizabeth as you do, I don't think I need tell you that that is not a kind of life that would suit our dear adventurous girl, nor one that would bring her happiness. And, above all things, I _do_ want Elizabeth to be happy. _

_I know, due to my new role as Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, and the various obligations and responsibilities inherent in that position, I cannot be the husband that Elizabeth deserves and needs. I will not be there to hold her and dry her tears when she is in pain, nor share her joy and see her beautiful smile in times of gladness, nor hold her close to my heart and feel her skin next to mine when she is in need of such affection and care that only a husband and lover can give her. Since I cannot be there to see to her happiness and well-being myself, I am asking you to act as my surrogate in these matters._

_There are now also certain "comforts" to which Elizabeth has been introduced, through your actions and through mine, that a husband would normally tend to in the marriage bed, and which she may very well decide, being a young and vital woman, that she needs to have in her life, and with considerably more frequency than one day every ten years. If that is the case, I would rather she take such comfort with you than be forced to deny herself such pleasures, or to seek them in the arms of a stranger (as the old proverb states, better the Devil you know … and, yes, my use of that analogy in regard to you is fully intentional). I know you already hold Elizabeth in high regard—in fact, I am convinced that you care, deeply, for her, even though you have consistently gone out of your way to hide that fact, as she has also done toward you—and, if that is indeed true, I know I can trust you to watch over her, guide her, and see to her happiness in my prolonged and unavoidable absence._

_I know that there is a chance (albeit an exceedingly small one) that such an arrangement will not meet with your approval, or possibly (knowing how contrary my new wife can be, particularly when she feels a decision has been made for her, without benefit of her counsel) even hers. But having already sampled my wife's ample charms, and now, with the expressed permission (if not quite encouragement) of her loving but regrettably absent husband for you to continue such intimacies, I am confident you will see the benefits of such an arrangement, as will she._

_All I would ask, in return (besides your solemn vow to keep Elizabeth safe and happy, to the best of your abilities, and in accordance with parameters that she and she alone will determine) is that she continue to safeguard my heart (which beats now in a chest far removed from my own fleshly one), and that every ten years, at sunset on the appointed day, she return to the place of our honeymoon, where I can delight in her company for the twenty-four hours allowed us, and serve her as a husband should serve a wife—with heart (disembodied though it may be), mind, and body._

_Until that day, I entrust my darling Elizabeth to your tender care, and pray we have no occasion to meet before then in the dark, haunted waters of World's End. However, if you feel at any time that you or she are reaching the end of your days, I would urge that you contrive to do so while at sea, so I may have the privilege of taking you on your final journey, and enjoy the pleasure of your souls' company one last time before you go on to your eternal rest._

_I leave you, with my warmest personal regards for you and profound appreciation for the sacrifices you've made, on Elizabeth's and on my behalf, for I know that they have cost you, dearly, and with the request that you pass on my deepest and most undying love to my beautiful bride._

_William Turner, Jr  
__Captain, _Flying Dutchman

* * *

When Jack had finished reading the letter through, twice lest he misinterpreted anything contained therein, he handed it to Elizabeth, who had been watching him all this time with curious and impatient eyes.

She snatched the letters from his fingers, her eyes flicking first down to the signature at the bottom of the last page, then eagerly consuming the contents of the letter. At times, her fine brows rose in surprise, then lowered in a frown, before settling on an expression of such tender longing that Jack's heart ached for her. At one point, she turned startled eyes toward Jack, searching his face as though seeing him for the first time, before returning to her perusal of Will's missive.

When she at last looked up, and her eyes met his, Jack could see they were misted with tears. "Perhaps you can begin to see, now, why I love him so dearly," she whispered. Her fingers caressed the letter, tracing each line lovingly, as if they skimmed not over mere paper and ink, but Will's own living skin ...

"Yes ... well, I take back half of the disparaging comments I've ever made about him," Jack quipped, disguising the fact that he, too, had been moved by Will's letter.

Her dark-honey eyes fixed on his face. "And you ... you were going to sacrifice yourself, so Will and I could be together ..." she said, wonderingly.

Jack nervously brushed the deck with the toe of his boot, "Well, don't put too pretty a face on't, luv ... I had me selfish reasons as well ... the tradeoff would've been immortality, so it wouldn't've been _that _much of a sacrifice ..."

"Yet you gave that up as well, to save Will from a permanent death ..."

His eyes rose to lock with hers, their dark depths saying things he couldn't put into words. "I didn't do it for _Will_, luv ..." he said, gently. And saw her eyes soften as she took his meaning.

_For me ... _her eyes said back to him. _You did it for me ..._

She handed the letter back to Jack, his fingers brushing hers as he took it from her.

Then, before he could even tuck the letter into his breast pocket, she started pummelling his chest with both fists. Jack staggered back in surprise, wondering at the sudden flash of anger in her eyes.

"You _lied _to me! That night on the _Pearl_!" she accused. "You _always _intended to stab the heart! To _die_! And you _used _me to get you onto the _Dutchman _to further your goal of ending your mortal life!" She struck him again.

"Ow!!!" He fluttered his hands agitatedly, backing away as she advanced on him, trying to placate her, his words coming fast and panicky. "Now, luv, it wasn't a _lie_, exactly. I _did _want to get on the _Dutchman _to gain control of the heart. That was true. I just never told you what I planned to _do _with it, once I had it ..."

She went to strike him again, but he lashed out and grabbed her fist. "A lie of omission, rather than commission, is _still _a lie!" she said, but the worst of the fire had drained from her eyes, and all she could manage was a sullen pout.

"I might point out, luv, that you lied to me as well. You deliberately put yourself in danger, by swingin' over to the _Dutchman _and confrontin' Jones. After you swore that you'd keep yourself safe, let your crew protect you ..."

"That's different ..." she rationalised. "The only way to keep myself safe was to defeat Jones and Beckett ..."

"At the risk of your own life." He shook his head, sending the trinkets in his hair swaying. "A broken promise is a broken promise, darlin'. Sauce for the goose, luv." He smiled crookedly. "But I reckon we're _both _too much pirate to honour our word."

Then she surprised him again, by flinging herself into his arms. "Oh, Jack! I might have lost both you _and _Will!" Her tremulous sigh sounded more like a sob. "And then _I _would have had no reason to go on living ..." When she looked back up at him, one tear had managed to escape her eye, to slip a shining quicksilver trail down her cheek. "But, because of you ... of what you did ... and because of Will's supreme act of generosity ... I have you _both_, when I might have lost _all _..."

He looked down at her, his dark-ringed eyes narrowing. "What're you sayin', luv?"

She smiled up at him. "Do I really _need _to say it?"

And then her lips were on his, rendering words unnecessary.

Before long, they were aware of a sound. A clearing of a throat. And realised Gibbs was still there, and that they weren't alone ...

They broke the kiss, Elizabeth blushing furiously as she slanted a sheepish glance toward Gibbs.

"I take it this means you're takin' Will up on his generous offer ...?" Jack ventured, with a sly grin.

"I'm willing, if you are. After all, only a fool would pass up such a chance," she said. "Only ... I'll need a little time. I've not yet been able to absorb the reality of having a husband ... let alone a husband _and _a lover ..."

"Not just a lover, darlin' ... your husband's designated proxy ... tasked with seein' to your happiness and pleasure ..." He grinned crookedly, his expression almost ingenuous as he leant forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, almost chastely. "But don't leave me waitin' _too _long, luv. I tend not to be a patient man, when it comes to you ..."

"That's not strictly true. In fact, you've been more patient with me than I've any right to deserve." She smiled and shook her head, with scepticism. "But, Jack ... admit it. You _never _would have been happy with the terms of your Immortality." She gave a little, ironic laugh. "I'd wager you can't go ten _days _without bedding a woman, let alone ten _years _..."

His dark eyes fixed on her face, hungrily. "Or, when it comes to you, luv ..." he said, huskily, "Ten _hours _... ten _minutes _... is much too long to wait ..." He leaned in again, this time seeking her lips ...

"Perhaps I should just go back to the _Bride_, and leave the two of ye alone ..." Gibbs' voice broke in, in apologetic exasperation.

Jack and Elizabeth stared at one another, their noses practically touching, and then broke into laughter.

"That won't be necessary, Mister Gibbs," Elizabeth said, still staring into Jack's eyes. "We're just about through here." Then, leaning close to Jack, she whispered, "Perhaps, when this little venture is over ... we can turn our thoughts to defining the terms of our new ... arrangement."

Jack's eyes narrowed as he lifted his chin, looking down his perfect nose at her. "Terms, eh? Are negotiations, then, in order?"

"Oh, no ... not negotiations. _My _terms! After all ..." she placed her hand upon the breast of his coat, over the spot where he had tucked Will's letter, "Will said I, and I _alone_, should set the parameters of our _liaison_." She allowed a little, sharkish smile. "And you, Captain Jack Sparrow ... are _mine _... to do with as I please ... for as long as I please ..."

A slow, seductive smile spread across his tanned face. "Aye ... I am, at that!"

And then he kissed her, long and lingeringly, savouring those lips he'd thought never to kiss again ...

Neither of them noticed when Gibbs threw up his hands in surrender, turned, and left the ship ... but with a wide, satisfied grin on his face for the happy pair ...

* * *

_**A/N:** And that's all she wrote! (At least, for this tale). Please, read and review, if you're so inclined. All comments gratefully read and welcome!_

_And, all of you, have a Happy Holiday season!_

_-- Cat_


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